Side-Effects May Vary
by Angelia Dark
Summary: During the zombie fiasco, Grunkle Stan is bitten trying to save the twins. Dipper and Mabel managed to get rid of the zombies and cure Soos and Stan, but Stan appears to be having...side-effects. Rating for some gore.
1. Chapter 1

**_This is primarily just an idea I got, and I don't know if I'll continue it, but it's an AU I always liked._**

* * *

 _Stan thought he saw something in his peripheral, and turned in his chair to look at the security screen outside, wondering if some of Wendy's punk friends were trying to vandalize the Shack again, almost falling out of his chair when he instead saw ZOMBIES staggering across the property._

 _He leapt out of his chair and bolted for the elevator, every second seeming too long as he hoped and prayed Dipper and Mabel were okay. They HAD to be. He shoved the vending machine door open, hearing the zombies smash at the doors and windows, first running upstairs with the hope that they might have made it inside and barricaded the door._

 _The upstairs was empty and the doors open. Damn it. He grabbed the nearest blunt object—a bat—and ran back downstairs, right as a small group of zombies came around the corner. They groaned and claws for him, and he beat them back, just as he heard Dipper let out a yell and Mabel cry out for him._

 _He ran in just in time to see Dipper being held up by a zombie, and swung hard, the zombie going down like a sack of rocks. Not taking any chances, he stomped down hard on the zombie's head to finish it off, panting hard._

 _"YOU TWO! ATTIC! NOW!" he commanded, pointing to the stairs. Dipper and Mabel just stared, dumbfounded._

 _"Grunkle Stan…!?" Dipper stammered. Stan snarled._

 _"I said NOW!" THAT got them going. Stan turned his attention back to the zombies that were closing in. "Alright you undead jerks, you ready to die twice!?" He began following the kids, beating back at any zombies who were following them, through the living room and to the foyer._

 _Just as the kids were running up the stairs, one of the zombies got a grip on his bat and snapped it in two. Glad his paranoia always paid off, Stan shoved his hands in his pockets, slipping his brass knuckles on, and began punching them instead. Less effective than the bat, but at least they stayed stunned for a moment._

 _Another hoard came through and one of them slashed at him. He jerked back out of the way—and right back into another zombie, who lurched forward and bit him hard through his clothes into the shoulder. He shouted in pain, reaching back and snapping the zombie's neck around, clenching a hand to his shoulder as he stumbled up the stairs, feeling his head swim violently._

 _'Gotta get to the kids,' he kept thinking, forcing down the violent surge of ravenous hunger that was taking hold of his gut. 'Gotta make sure they're okay…' He glanced back at the zombies following him up the stairs, and hurried up, grabbing hold of the clock on the landing and shoving it down, hoping it held them off long enough._

 _He hurried to their attic room and pounded on the door for a moment before remembering to use the doorknob, hurrying in, coughing and groaning. "Ugh…everything hurts…" he said, mostly to himself as he shut the door and leaned against it._

 _Dipper was saying something, but the words sounded muddled, like he was trying to hear underwater. A wave of nausea slammed into him, and he fell to his knees, clenching his hand into the bite mark on his shoulder. He managed to look up, vaguely recognizing his niece and nephew slowly backing away, holding each other tightly, identical looks of horror on their faces._

 _His mouth began watering against his will, reason starting to leave his brain. He wanted to get to them…wanted to…to…_

 _A loud crashing sound behind them made them look away from him, a zombie having shattered the window and was crawling in and reaching out to them. Mabel screamed, covering her head with her arms, Dipper covering Mabel with his body—_

 _Stan lurched forward at hearing Mabel screaming, diving right past them and punching the zombie right back out the window with all his might. He snarled down at the zombies staring back up._ _ **'MY KIDS. MINE. PROTECT. MINE. MINE!'**_

 _Crashing from behind accompanied by screams from the kids made him turn his attention back to the attic door, where zombies were trying to crash through. He snarled, practically vaulting over the kids on the floor to smash his fist through the door and tear the zombies apart._

 _Dipper fumbled for his journal, close to tears at the impossible situation they were in, his hand pausing mid-air when he saw the black light illuminating invisible ink on the opened pages. On auto-pilot, he shoved the pages aside until he found the section on The Undead, and found the solution._

 _"Previously thought to be invincible, their skulls can be shattered by a perfect three-part harmony…!" Dipper intoned, his hands shaking. "Three-part harmony, how can we create that…!?"_

 _Mabel bit her lip, looking at Stan, who was growling and snarling inhumanly as he tore zombies to pieces. "…If Grunkle Stan….if he….we could sing!" she wailed, hugging Waddles to her tightly. "B-but he's…!"_

 _Dipper shut his journal, taking off his hat and running a shaking hand through his head, looking around hopelessly before his eyes landed on his bedside drawer. "…Mabel, does that machine have a disk player?" he asked._

 _"Yeah, why?" Mabel asked. Dipper opened the drawer and took out a CD._

 _"If we sing to a song, then that could make the harmony!" he said. "Do you know the lyrics to 'Disco Girl'?"_

* * *

That was awhile ago. The most horrifying night of their summer so far, bar none.

Dipper's idea had worked, and the zombies' heads blew up, leaving one giant mess. Very luckily, the two newest-turned—Soos and Grunkle Stan—remained intact. Dipper found a cure for zombification, and hurried into the kitchen to get the cinnamon while Mabel ran into the area of the Shack used to make new attractions to get the jar of formaldehyde.

A short scream alerted Dipper that something was wrong, and he hurried to where Mabel was, seeing Soos closing in on her, his personality having diminished even more to where he didn't even react to her pleading.

Dipper looked around wildly for SOME kind of thing to use as a weapon when he felt someone knock him to the side as he rushed past, looking up and seeing Grunkle Stan tackling Soos to the floor and away from Mabel.

THAT threw Dipper for a loop. He figured Stan would be going for Mabel, not Soos. Mabel stood pressed back against the corner with her arms hugging the jar of formaldehyde tightly, staring with terrorized eyes at the zombified two. Stan pinned Soos back, then turned his head to Mabel.

 _"G…GO….!"_

Mabel squeaked and hurried past over to Dipper, who ushered her out before shutting the door and locking it until the cure was made.

They were lucky everything they needed was somewhere in the house. It took less than fifteen minutes to make it, and all they had to do was somehow get it into them. Dipper figured that since getting them to drink it would be too difficult, the next best thing would be to douse their infected bite marks with it, and then when they were lucid enough to, to keep a cloth soaked with the solution pressed to the bite marks until they were completely cured.

Dipper decided he was going to be the one to put the solution on them, and instructed Mabel to be his backup in case the worst happened. They both knew that if the cure didn't work, or if they were overpowered, then they had to do what they had to do to survive.

They were just grateful it didn't come to that. Same as when they left, Stan had Soos overpowered and pinned to the floor, and didn't move when Dipper came closer with the solution and poured it out on their bite wounds.

The bite marks foamed and fizzled in a way that made Dipper ill, and both men cried out in pain and collapsed on the floor. Within minutes, Dipper saw them regain some color, and deemed it safe for Mabel to come help him soak some cloths and put it over the bites.

Soos and Stan were out cold for that part, which the twins were glad for. They didn't want either man to have to suffer through having the zombification infection being drawn out.

Soos seemed to be doing extremely well. He regained some lifelike color to him within minutes, and began breathing easy after two hours. Dipper lifted the cloth to check on the bite wound, and was heavily relieved when he saw that it had stopped foaming and even looked like it was healing.

Grunkle Stan, on the other hand…

Well, the cure apparently WORKED, didn't it? He was walking, talking, breathing, seemed perfectly normal. His skin had a more ashen tone to it, and his eyes looked a little greyer, but other than that, nobody noticed a difference.

Nobody seemed to notice that he wore a few sprays extra of cologne to cover an odd scent about him.

Nobody seemed to notice his joints cracked a little extra loudly when he did something more strenuous than walking.

Nobody seemed to notice that he almost never slept anymore…

Nobody outside the twins, anyway.

Mabel sat curled up on Stan's TV room chair, watching some TV show with an oddly sober expression on her face, looking like she wasn't even paying attention to the program. Dipper was sitting on the kitchen table, writing quietly in the journal.

 _ **The cure for zombification comes with restrictions.**_

 _ **The first is time. The sooner you treat the infected, the more effective the treatment will be. It is best to treat the affected within the first twenty-four hours to maximize effectiveness and minimize pain.**_

 _ **The second appears to be age. A child or twenty-something will have no problem responding to treatment. However, an older adult over the age of fifty—**_

Dipper's pen froze on the page when Stan walked into the kitchen. "It's bedtime kids," Stan said. "Off you get."

Mabel walked out of the TV room and toward the stairs, pausing, then turning back around and hugging Stan tightly. Stan smiled and hugged her back, petting her head before nudging her for the stairs.

Dipper followed, kicking off his shoes and setting his hat on the nightstand. He sat back on the bed with his journal as Mabel changed into her nightdress and crawled under the covers, then pulled her pillow over her head.

Dipper made a mental note to go buy earplugs the next morning, clicking off the lamp and tugging the blanket over his head before clicking on his penlight, clenching it between his teeth and closing his eyes tightly.

Almost as if on cue, he heard the short-lived scream of SOME kind of animal yelp out, and be promptly silenced. His hand shook as he pressed the pen to the journal page again. He knew when he left the Shack to go into town, he'd see another patch of red in the grass outside, maybe a few spots on the porch. He'd notice a small trail of it lead to the Bottomless Pit, if he looked closely enough, which he had no desire to.

And he'd definitely notice his Grunkle Stan in a much better mood in the morning.

— _ **will suffer some…side-effects.**_


	2. Chapter 2

This day just couldn't get any worse.

It started off well enough. It was a lazy off day, and Stan had decided to spend it with the kids. Ever since the…INCIDENT…Dipper and Mabel had been less than chipper and almost too cautious around him.

He couldn't blame them one bit. They had every reason to be cautious, considering…

But today was different. Mabel found some of his illegally-imported fireworks, and to lighten up the day, they had a fireworks party. He wanted to do something fun with the kids, to remind them that he was fine, still their Grunkle Stan. Their worries over him seemed to vanish as they exploded a few fireworks, then decided to hold a water balloon fight.

Normally, he'd be content to sit on the outside couch and watch them in order to spare his joints, but he instead joined in with the fun. His joints might crack more, but they didn't hurt like they normally would. He played double-agent to make the fight fair, and only stopped when they were thoroughly soaked and ran out of water balloons.

Mabel made an off-hand remark about how much fun they could have for the rest of the summer, and he fought to not let his expression drop as fast as his heart. Dear lord, the issues that were still unspoken, unknown. He gave the two a smile and excused himself to the side of the house, clenching a hand into his soaked shirt.

His breathing was ragged, his hands twitching. The now-familiar wrench in his gut that was giving him a warning of what might happen if he didn't rein in control, and rein it in NOW.

He couldn't do that to the kids. He couldn't let them see THAT again.

Stan let out a heavy sigh, feeling the wrench die down slightly. It was okay. He could do this. Just a few more hours to go…it all seemed to be going about too slowly.

Too-slowly turned to too-quickly in just a matter of an hour, when he was in FBI custody. He admittedly almost lost it when he was being pinned to the hood of a car, but he forced himself to stay calm. The kids were okay. They didn't know anything, and the FBI stooges weren't going to hurt them.

But he was running out of time, and the gravity anomalies were getting stronger.

He finally found his chance when a particularly strong anomaly put him in an advantage, with him being tied to some sort of anchor. While the FBI guys were distracted, he snapped the handcuff chain in two, shoved the chair into Agent Powers, pushed off from the wall, and used the other guys as stepping stones to the door.

As soon as the anomaly ended, he ran outside and shoved money to a taxi driver, instructing him to drive out of Gravity Falls as fast as he could, waiting for his moment before bolting for the Mystery Shack.

It only gave him a MINOR sense of satisfaction that he wasn't in as much pain as he would be if THAT never happened.

The Mystery Shack came into view, and he was relieved to see that it was cleared out. That relief vanished and was replaced with panic when he saw the vending machine door wide open. He bolted down, punched in the elevator code, and BARELY managed to keep his panic somewhat under control as the elevator descended. He was out before the doors fully opened, and he could hear voices in the portal room. He ran faster, skidding around the corner—

"DON'T TOUCH THAT BUTTON!" he shouted, without a second to spare just as Dipper was about to press it. He forced down that wrenching in his gut, slowly stepping into the room. "Dipper…just back away…" he said, holding up his hands placatingly, internally cursing when he could feel them twitching. "Please don't press that shut-down button, you've gotta trust me."

"And I should trust you WHY?!" Dipper demanded, not lowering his hand. "After you stole radioactive waste?! After you LIED to us all summer?! I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE—DON'T COME CLOSER!"

Stan paused, stopping when he saw Dipper jerk back, his expression having gone from angry to fearful. What was wrong? He felt something on his chin and wiped at it, suddenly aware that he was salivating, and the wrenching in his gut feeling akin to a ravenous hunger. It hit him what he must look like, and what Dipper must be thinking. "No, Dipper, just let me explain—"

He was interrupted when his watch alerted him to another anomaly. "Brace yourselves—" he warned, just as the portal sparked violently and gravity began going haywire. Everyone was lifted and separated as they tried to find something to hang onto. Stan found a spot on the wall to cling to, looking around for everyone, his eyes landing on Mabel when she called out for Dipper.

"Mabel! Shut it down!" Dipper shouted at her. Stan's eyes widened when he saw her crawl along a power cord and scramble to the shut-down button.

"NO!" he shouted, pushing off from the wall. "Mabel! Mabel, wait, STOP—!" He yelped when Soos tackled him mid-air, the feeling in his gut surging. "SOOS, YOU IDIOT!" he snarled, clenching his hands into Soos' arm almost tightly enough to snap it. "LET ME GO!" He jerked Soos' arm away and threw him into the wall before turning back to Mabel. "MABEL!"

Dipper pushed off from the support beam of the room and crashed into him, hitting and pushing at him. "MABEL, PRESS THE BUTTON!" he shouted. "SHUT IT DOWN—" He was cut off when Stan shoved him away, but clung to Stan's leg to avoid getting flung to the other side of the room.

"YOU'VE GOTTA TRUST ME!" Stan cried, using every ounce of consciousness in his brain to avoid tearing Dipper off of him—or worse.

"Grunkle Stan…I…I don't even know if you're my Grunkle…" Mabel sniffled, hugging the lever tightly as she cried. "…I wanna believe you…but…"

The sight simultaneously made Stan want to tear apart what was making her cry, and calming that hunger inside him. "Mabel, listen to me, I know this looks bad, REALLY bad, but—" A surge from the portal cut him off and flung him and the other two males back. He barely managed to shift Dipper upward so the boy would crash back against him instead of head-first onto a pipe on the wall.

He clung to a pipe to keep himself from flinging around. "EVERYTHING I'VE WORKED FOR, EVERYTHING I CARE ABOUT, IS ALL FOR THIS FAMILY!" he shouted, keeping her from pressing the button.

Dipper pushed off from him as best he could. "Mabel, what if he's lying!?" he cried, trying to shift away from Stan. "This thing could destroy the universe, LISTEN TO YOUR HEAD!"

"Look at me, Mabel!" Stan pleaded in turn. "I know I'm practically a monster now, but do you REALLY think I'm a bad guy!?"

"HE'S LYING! SHUT IT DOWN NOW!"

"MABEL, _PLEASE_!"

The portal sparked and began glowing brighter. Mabel looked between the portal, Stan, and Dipper before clenching her eyes shut.

"Grunkle Stan…" she choked, her hand shaking for a moment before she let go. "…I trust you."

Dipper let out a short scream when he saw his twin coming closer to the void of that portal. "MABEL!" He kicked off from the wall, reaching out for her as a blinding flash shot out from the portal. "NO!"

Stan paid no heed to the light or the force of energy that practically exploded around him. He shoved off from the wall and reached out, his hands finding Mabel and pulling her to him tightly, shielding her from the quaking from the portal as it flickered and began powering down, gravity turning back on like a switch was flipped.

He reached out and barely managed to catch Dipper too before the boy hit the ground, holding them both tightly as the air settled and the portal flickered. Dipper struggled weakly, still shaken from the blast, while Mabel clung to him tightly. He paid little mind as a shape formed within the portal for a brief moment before someone stepped out.

Dipper winced when Stan's grip on him tightened, and looked up when he saw someone walk over some debris and up to one of the journals on the floor, pressing a hand to it before picking it up and tucking it away. "Who…is that…?" he stammered.

"…The author of the journals," Stan replied, his voice shaking. "…My brother."

The newcomer tugged a scarf and goggles down, and the twins were looking at a near-identical face to the Grunkle they were holding onto.

Next to them, Soos fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

"…After all these years…" Stan said, letting go of the niblings and standing up, walking toward his brother. "You're finally here…!"

Mabel, already wary of the newcomer that came out of the portal, noticed the other man's hands clench and expression turn dark. Remembering the LAST time her Grunkle Stan was threatened, she jumped up and ran up to the stranger, pushing him away. "NO!" she shouted. "DON'T YOU HURT HIM!"

As solid as the man was, he still stumbled back in shock when Mabel pushed him. Stan reached out, pulling Mabel back.

"Mabel, what the heck are you doing!?" Stan said, holding her shoulders. "What's gotten into you?"

Mabel's small frame shook, biting her lip. "…He…he was going to hurt you!" she stammered. "I didn't…the last time someone tried to…you…" Her body shook harder, and she reached out, hugging him tightly. "I didn't want you to…"

Stan froze, then hugged her back. "…I'm okay, Mabel," he said quietly. "I'm honestly okay, I promise. I wouldn't…not to him…"

The other man frowned at Mabel. "…Stan, you didn't tell me there were CHILDREN down here!" he hissed, glancing around like there were MORE around he wasn't aware of. Mabel squeaked when Stan's hold on her tightened.

"They're your family, poindexter," he replied almost defensively. "Shermy's grandkids."

The man's expression lightened. "…I…have a niece and nephew?" The lightness grew more sober when Mabel gave him a distrusting look over her shoulder. Okay, yes, perhaps his first impression of almost punching his twin wasn't the best in getting on his great-niece's good graces. The boy, on the other hand…well, if there was an expression to describe 'seeing the face of God', this kid was pulling it off rather well.

"I…I don't believe it…" Dipper murmured before almost shouting, "YOU'RE the author of the journals…!"

Interesting. He slipped his journal out of his coat pocket. "…You've read my journals?" he asked, amused. The boy just kind of stammered before hyperventilating and looked close to vomiting. After the mess he was seeing down here, he wasn't surprised.

"Listen, we'll have time for introductions later," he said, putting the journal back, turning to his brother. "But first, tell me, Stan, are there ANY security breeches? Does ANYONE else know about this portal?"

Stan looked almost sheepish. "…maybe the entire US government—"

"THE WHAT!?" his brother shouted, looking close to throttling Stan. Mabel's mutinous expression came back, but they were interrupted by the security cameras picking up the FBI again.

"Spread out! We're not going anywhere until we find Stan Pines and those kids!" Agent Powers was saying. Mabel whimpered, and felt her Grunkle tense up.

"Okay, alright, we've got awhile before they find this room," the man said, taking out his journal and jotting something down. "We just need to lay low and think of a plan!" As he wrote something down, Stan quietly took Mabel's shoulders and stepped away from her, squeezing her shoulders lightly before turning to his twin.

"…I'll handle this," Stan said, his tone making shivers run down the spines of everyone in the room. He headed for the elevator. "Soos, Stanford, watch the kids. Keep them down here until it's done."

Stanford frowned, opening his mouth to protest, only for any words to be lost when he saw the stiff, frightened look the kids made. He saw Soos hurry up and gather the kids up, looking resolute. "…Stanley?" Stan didn't answer, walking to the elevator and opening it. When he turned around to press the button, Stanford saw a dead glint in his twin's eyes. "Stanley!" He ran over, but was too late to stop the elevator door from closing.

He hit the door and swore, running over to the security screens, his eyes flicking over them as he searched for one that would show his brother. There were none inside the house, that were functional, anyway, but in one of the outside cameras, he saw an agent run out of the house with an expression of terror. Just what in the world was going on!?

Dipper broke away from Soos and rushed up to Stanford, jerking open his backpack and taking out a memory gun. "They cant take him!" he shouted, jerking on Stanford's coat. "We have to use this before it's too late!" He flinched hard when there were screams and gunfire from the camera. "PLEASE!"

"What the hell is going on, kid!?" Stanford demanded, almost being knocked over when Mabel rushed past and pounded on the elevator door, Soos on her heels.

"Mabel, Mr. Pines said to stay down here!" Soos cried, trying to pull her from the elevator. Mabel just sobbed, hitting the door harder.

"HE NEEDS ME!" she shrieked, squirming to get free. "HE NEEDS ME TO HELP HIM STOP!"

Next to Stanford, Dipper shoved the memory gun into his hands. "CAN this help!?" Dipper shouted over Mabel's cries, flicking his eyes to the screen. "HURRY!"

Stanford bit his lip, then took the gun to a panel and began hooking it up to some cords, his fingers flickering with the settings. "I wouldn't even know WHAT to set it to—"

"I DON'T CARE IF IT'S SET ON HOW TO MAKE THEM FORGET HOW TO BREATHE!" Dipper shouted. "JUST HURRY BEFORE THEY HURT HIM!"

Stanford swore under his breath, putting the settings on 'STAN PINES' just for good measure, turning it on. "GET DOWN!" he shouted, ducking down and covering his ears. Dipper did the same, and Soos pushed Mabel down, covering his own ears.

A strong wave of pulses swept over the property before fading out. Just after the pulsing stopped, Stanford heard the 'DING' of the elevator and looked up in time to see Mabel rushing in. He grabbed the memory gun and rushed in after her just as it was closing, too late to stop the elevator from going up, and vowed to put an emergency stop button on in the future.

Mabel's face was almost chalk-pale, her body shaking but her eyes holding a hardness that Stanford thought no child should ever have. She shifted away from him, her hands flexing as though she was prepared to fight him if she had to.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, hoping his voice was as calm as he wanted it to be. "I promise."

"I don't trust you," Mabel replied, her voice so sharp he almost flinched. "I don't trust anyone with Grunkle Stan. They don't understand. They don't KNOW."

"Know what?" Stanford asked. "Listen, he's my twin brother, and considering everything I've seen, whatever it is, I know I'll understand." He looked up when the elevator dinged, and Mabel, small as she was, was able to bolt out ahead of him before the elevator finished opening, giving her a good head start on him.

He followed as quickly as he could, the memory gun clenched in his hand tightly, prepared to use it, and ran up out into the gift shop—

—and froze.

Blood.

There was blood EVERYWHERE.

He could only stand stock-still as he surveyed the horror in front of him. Among the blood were bodies. Some had limbs torn off. Some had chunks of skin missing. One had his head removed entirely from his body.

Stanford became aware that his hands were shaking. He reached back with his free hand and grabbed his gun, feeling more protected with it in a situation like THIS, and slowly edged his way out of the doorway.

He absently wondered where Stanley and Mabel were when he heard a shout outside. He edged his way around a body and peeked outside, his eyes going wide with what he saw.

Stanley was standing on the back porch, covered in blood. And that was just from what Stanford could see from the back. There were a handful of agents standing outside with their guns trained on him.

Mabel was out by them, being held back by one of the agents. She kicked and tried to bite at him, shouting to be let go.

Stanford's hands clenched reflexively around both guns when he heard an inhuman growling sound, his eyes flickering around for a moment before realizing that sound came from Stanley. Stanley growled louder, stepping down off the porch, in the direction of the agent holding Mabel.

"FREEZE!" the agent shouted. "DO NOT COME ANY CLOSER, OR WE WILL USE DEADLY FORCE!"

"Shoot him anyway!" another agent called over. "Did you see what he did to those men inside!? He's a MONSTER!"

Stan paid no heed to the commands, and only stepped closer. Mabel jerked against the agent holding her back, reaching out for her Grunkle—

 _ **BLAM**_

Stanford flinched when he heard the gunshot, peeking around, his hands shaking when he saw Stan stumble, seeing a drip of blood pool on the ground. A cold seize of terror ran through his body. _His brother had been shot! They SHOT him!_ He jumped up and ran out onto the porch, skidding to a halt when he saw Stanley straighten up and take another step forward.

The panicking agent shakily took aim and shot again, and this time Stanford SAW the bullet strike Stanley's shoulder. Stanley showed no sign of feeling the hit.

"I TOLD YOU! HE'S A MONSTER!"

"Is this guy even for REAL!?"

"Who the hell is THAT guy behind him?"

In the brief pause for debate, Stanley lurched forward and snatched the agent holding Mabel, grabbing his arm and snapping it effortlessly before reeling him in and tearing out his throat with his teeth.

Mabel scrambled out of the way just in time to avoid getting sprayed with blood, covering her head with her arms when the agents began shooting again in a panic.

In his own panic, Stanford raised his own gun and began firing at the agents, forgetting he'd set his gun to 'Stun' instead of 'Kill', but worked with what he had, doing the same to the pilots about to take off in the helicopters before turning his attention back to Stanley.

He dropped both guns when he found his brother chewing on the flesh of an agent.

 _'Undead,'_ his brain supplied. Every sign he formerly observed pointed to it. The dead look Stanley gave him in the elevator. The inability to feel pain when being shot. EATING A HUMAN BEING. He could feel his body shaking violently, nausea rising in his throat.

His brother was a zombie. Thirty years, and THIS is what he came back to.

He snapped back to reality when he saw Mabel slowly get up and walk over to Stanley. "…no…" he choked out. "Don't—!" He knelt down, his hands fumbling for a gun—he didn't know which one, exactly—as he kept his eyes trained on Mabel.

Mabel sniffled softly, walking up to Stan, pointedly ignoring the chewed-on body in his grip. "Grunkle Stan," she said, her voice soft but strong. "It's over. I'm okay. Stop eating him now." Stan growled, his dead eyes staring back at her as he dropped the body to the ground. She wiped her face with her sleeve, reaching under his arm and hugging his torso tightly.

Stanford managed to get a hold of his gun, raising it and aiming in the direction of Stanley's head, jumping when he felt a hand shove his arm down. He looked over and saw Dipper holding his arm down, looking terrified but resolute.

"Don't," Dipper said, swallowing hard, his complexion slightly green from nausea. "…It's…okay."

"Okay…?" Stanford repeated, incredulous. "This…NOTHING…about THIS…is OKAY…! Stanley is—"

"He's not," Dipper replied quickly. "Not…entirely, anyway." His eyes teared up, paling before turning and vomiting on the ground. His grip on Stanford's arm never waived.

Soos hurried up and helped keep Dipper upright as Stanford turned back to Stanley and Mabel, the gun dropping from his hand when he saw Stanley hugging Mabel back, life having come back into his eyes, and his expression mournful and full of regret.

"…I'm alright, Mabel," Stan said, feeling the wrenching in his gut subside completely, feeling disgusted with himself at how full and satisfied he felt. "I'm sorry, kiddo…I'm alright now…"

Mabel sniffled and nodded, leaning back slightly to give her Grunkle a brave smile, blood smeared on her face from where she had been hugging his blood-splattered clothes. "I'm alright too," she said. "I'm okay." She hugged him again before turning to look at the others. "…how…are we going to fix THIS…?"

"…You let me worry about that, okay, sweetie?" Stan said, petting her head before steering her toward the Shack, giving Dipper another mournful look. "…Dipper…Mabel…go wash up. The plumbing should still work. If it doesn't, please, fix it, Soos."

Soos nodded, his own complexion pale as he held onto Dipper and Mabel's shoulders, taking them around to the front to spare them having to walk through the corpse-ridden gift shop.

Stanley's expression turned dark as soon as they were out of sight. He turned to give his brother an unreadable look that had an edge of anger to it. Ford could still see heavy smears of blood around Stanley's mouth, and even a bit of foreign skin sticking to his chin.

"I told you to keep them down there until I was done," he said.

Stanford felt the last well of self-control leave him then. He nearly bent over double as he vomited on the ground, wondering what kind of world he had been returned to.


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Ford managed to convince the remaining agents that the whole ordeal was a meteor shower, and managed to get all documentation of the case handed over. Honestly, the US government was about as clueless as it was in the Reagan administration.

Right after they left, Stan came out of hiding and immediately began gathering up the corpses and dragging them to the Bottomless Pit. Soos came out and helped, having made sure the plumbing was working, and assuring once again that there was nothing he wouldn't do for the Pines family.

Ford surveyed numbly, unable to bring himself to move after what he'd witnessed. He especially couldn't bring himself to go back into the house. He just sat on the porch, staring at his shaking hands that were wringing themselves bloodless in his lap, trying to find SOME way of comprehending all of this. His brother fixed the portal. His brother brought him back. His brother was an undead…THING…

…and he was watching Stanley dispose of dead bodies.

If he hadn't checked the dimensional coordinates, he would swear this was the wrong dimension. But no. It was Dimension 46'\\. His home. His brother.

….his blood-stained home and brother.

The sun had set by the time Stanley came back, sans the other man—Soos, was it? He swallowed hard, forcing his hands to stay away from the guns within his reach. "Where…where's the…other one?" he managed to ask.

Stan looked up, and Ford felt his stomach lurch when he saw Stan's eyes practically glowing the same color as the moonlight. "He went home," Stan said, walking past Ford and opening the door. "…You coming in?"

As badly as Ford wanted to say 'no', he couldn't exactly stay out all night. Rumbling of distant thunder of an incoming storm cinched his decision. He stood up and walked inside after Stan, clenching his hands tightly when he saw the splatters and smears of blood on the floor.

"That's going to be a hassle to clean," Stan muttered. "And they had to smash out the windows too, the bastards…" He peeled off his jacket and shirt, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a garbage bag to stuff them inside.

Stan's blasé actions were just making Ford even more nervous. "…What happened to you?" Ford found himself saying, his legs feeling like they were going numb. Stan paused, glancing over his shoulder at his twin.

"…Not exactly the way I wanted you to find out," he replied. "I would've been more than happy if you never found out." He tossed the bag into a corner of the kitchen and grabbed a dishcloth, soaking it. "I would've preferred it if SOOS never found out. Never been more grateful for a guy to be THAT dedicated to me." He walked over to the kitchen table, sitting down and gesturing for Ford to join him.

Ford hesitated before gingerly sitting down across from Stan, his guard up high and tensed. They sat in silent for a good long while before Stan let out a sigh and began wiping the blood off his face with the damp dishtowel.

"I don't know why the hell I'm like this," Stan said, his voice tight. "Soos got bitten by those zombie idiots too, and he turned out fine." He began wiping off his hands. "Bad enough the kids had to go through getting rid of the zombies and curing me and Soos…then they had see…" He growled, making Ford's hair stand on end. Stan calmed down, closing his eyes tightly. "It's getting late," he said, tossing the dishtowel in the sink. "Take a shower if you want, I'm gonna clean up the gift shop."

He pushed off from the table and stood up. "…We'll talk tomorrow," he added. "Don't interrogate the kids, they've been through enough." He left the kitchen, heading to the back of the house, leaving Ford alone at the kitchen table.

Ford didn't know how long he sat there, but movement near the door snapped him back onto high alert. He looked up, expecting to see an undead monster, but instead saw a small form peeking around the doorframe at him.

Dipper edged around the doorframe, his eyes wide with both wonder at seeing his idolized author, but also with caution, hardly blinking at all. It was a disturbing mix that made Ford feel a little uncomfortable.

"…hello," Ford said, keeping his hands on the table as a show that he was unarmed and safe to approach. Dipper edged in further, taking his hands from around his back, showing he was holding Journal 3. "…oh. May I?" He held his hand out for it. Dipper chewed his lip, then opened the journal to the back where blank pages used to be, handing it to Ford.

"…it's not perfect," Dipper said quietly. "It's just what I observed…I wrote what I could down, but…I don't understand most of it." His expression turned sober. "…I think Mabel understands more than I do…but I doubt she'll talk to you about it. She's…" He wrung his hands tightly. "…she's protective of him."

Ford looked over Dipper's writing, seeing a mix of neat sentences and panicked annotations, feeling a coldness in his stomach when he saw a few drops of what he was sure to be blood. "…Thank you," he said, swallowing hard. "I'll…do what I can."

"….just be careful," Dipper said, his skin pale and eyes almost haunted. "…Grunkle Stan's not the one you should worry about if you accidentally hurt him." He turned and headed back upstairs.

Ford felt a shudder go down his spine. This wasn't normal, even by Gravity Falls standards. No boy should have that haunted look on his face. No girl should be so comfortable hugging a bloody zombified relative.

And his brother should NOT be some kind of semi-living dead monstrosity!

Not wanting to face Stanley or the mess in the gift shop, Ford instead went upstairs to the bathroom for that shower.

* * *

Things were still quiet after the shower, and he was a bit unnerved when he found a pile of clean clothing outside the bathroom door when he was finished. A maroon sweater, dark grey slacks, and, to his surprise, one of his old jackets, still in fine condition for it being thirty years old.

He tugged on the clothing, finding the pants were a bit loose, but that was remedied with a belt. He latched his gun holster to his thigh and tugged on the jacket to cover the gun, gathering up his dirty clothes and creeping out the bathroom.

Even in his own house, he still felt like a creep trying to keep quiet. He crept downstairs and around the foyer, finding his old spare room was tidied and clean, save for a rolled-up blue carpet leaning against the wall. He shut the door behind him, looking around before sitting down on the couch and opening the journal again, reading through his nephew's writing.

 _ **The cure for zombification comes with restrictions.**_

 _ **The first is time. The sooner you treat the infected, the more effective the treatment will be. It is best to treat the affected within the first twenty-four hours to maximize effectiveness and minimize pain.**_

 _ **The second appears to be age. A child or twenty-something will have no problem responding to treatment. However, an older adult over the age of fifty will suffer some…side-effects.**_

Ford frowned, glancing over the bulletined list of 'side-effects'.

 _ ****Stronger, more agile, pain from old age seems to be gone.**_

 _ ****Doesn't seem to sleep, just zones out sometimes.**_

 _ ****Eats more meat, drinks less soda.**_

Here, the writing became more shaky, written in a different pen, on a different day.

 _ **Ate a rabbit. He just…ate a rabbit. Caught it and ate it. Tore right into it. Blood everywhere. Hid it from Mabel.**_

 _ **Heard him eat something else tonight. Something bigger. It screamed. Mabel ran out to make sure he was alright. She hasn't spoken. Please be okay, please please…**_

The writing next to the splotches of blood came next.

 _ **Construction guy got drunk on the job. Started mouthing off. Mabel told him to not act like that to Grunkle Stan. Guy looked like he was raising a hand to hit her.**_

 _ **Oh god…oh god…oh god…oh god…so much blood…he just snapped…**_

 _ **Tore the man apart. Right in front of us. Started**_

—here something was scribbled out hastily—

 _ **HE ATE HIM. HE ATE THE GUY. HE ATE HIM.**_

 _ **Tried to pull Mabel away. She jerked away. Ran to Stan. Hugged him and cried. Begged him to stop.**_

 _ **He stopped.**_

—more scribbling, taking up almost a whole paragraph—

 _ **He's so calm when we're around him. But mostly Mabel. Whenever he looks ready to snap again, Mabel hugs him.**_

 _ **('Magic Mabel Hugs'. She told me to write that in.)**_

 _ **It's not magic. It's not right. He's a monster.**_

 _ **Oh god.**_

 _ **What have I done.**_

Ford's hands shook so hard he dropped the journal, staring at it on the floor. What the actual hell did he just read?

His head jerked up when he heard footsteps outside the door. He snatched the journal up with one hand, the other going to the gun on his thigh holster. The footsteps paused in front of the door for a few moments before heading off. Only then, did Ford finally breathe. He waited a few minutes more before hurrying over and locking the door.

He was sure he wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

Ford was well-versed in sleeping with his eyes open. It was a necessity that came with dimension-hopping and keeping out of harm's way. Even so, it was much like zoning out when he was enthralled with his work, and much like being absorbed in his work, he jerked out of it violently when there was a loud pounding on the door.

He had his gun out and aimed in less than a second, taking a few moments to realize that he wasn't in a cave somewhere about to be eaten.

He was home.

Ford lowered the gun, running a shaking hand through his hair. "…Who…who's there?" he called out, hating how his voice was shaking.

"It's me, Stanford." Somehow, that it was Stanley answering didn't make Ford feel better. "Open the door."

Ford swallowed hard, standing slowly. "Back away from the door," he commanded. "And keep your hands where I can see them." He heard faint grumbling on the other side of the door as he slowly unlocked it and cracked it open.

Stanley was on the other side, looking completely normal. Clean skin, clean clothing. Maybe a bit more cologne than was necessary, but other than that…

Ford shook his head a little. Was all of yesterday a horrible nightmare? It would make sense. He's had worse nightmares before. He opened the door the rest of the way, discretely putting the gun back into his holster. "…What time is it?" he asked, just to break the awkward tension in the room.

Stan snorted. "Almost eleven," he replied, then reached into his pocket and took out a key. "Also, I could have come in at any time." He tossed the key to Ford. "But then I remembered you've become fond of guns over the past thirty years, and figured if I was going to check to see if you were dead or not, I wouldn't want a hole in my skull."

Ford felt his face heat up, and quickly pocketed the key. "…Locking doors is a habit now," he said. "I feel…safer."

"Figured. You want something to eat?" Stan's lips twitched when he heard Ford's stomach answer for him. "That's a yes. Come on." He turned and headed to the kitchen.

Ford followed, rubbing his temples, trying to get that horrible nightmare out of his head. It would figure his first night back home wouldn't be a pleasant one. He peered around the corner doorway and saw the kids—Dipper and Mabel, was it?—already sitting at the table.

Dipper was chewing on some cereal quietly, looking about as exhausted as Ford felt. Mabel was sitting opposite him, waiting patiently for Stan to fix her something to eat.

"Lucky we have that backup generator, or all our meat and eggs would've gone to waste," Stan said, taking out some eggs, bacon, and beef slices. Ford could have sworn Dipper paused his chewing to make a slightly disgusted face before continuing to eat. "You still take yours over medium, Stanford?"

"…Sure," Ford said, feeling like he was in an episode of The Twilight Zone as he sat down between the two children. Dipper was giving him slightly awed looks while Mabel kept her eyes pointedly on Stan.

"I'll have some beef slices today, Grunkle Stan," she said, and Ford swore he detected an encouraging tone in her voice. This time, he DEFINITELY saw Dipper's expression twist slightly.

"No problem, sweetie," Stan said, cutting through the bits, and—to Ford's horror—began eating raw bites of it. Ford felt a coldness run down his spine as his hand instinctively inched toward his gun. A soft, barely-audible intake of air beside him made him glance over at Mabel, and he saw her expression go from shocked to ANGRY.

 _She's protective of him._

 _Grunkle Stan's not the one you should worry about if you accidentally hurt him._

Dipper's words made his hand pause as he took in Mabel's look. Flashes of memories that he was now SURE were not just nightmares reminded him of how she pushed him away from Stan when he first came through the portal. How she clung to him protectively, so TRUSTINGLY.

He forced his hand back up to the table, swallowing hard. "…Yesterday wasn't a nightmare, was it?" he said, mostly to himself. A heavy silence rang through the room, interrupted only by Stan's cooking hissing on the stove.

"…No," Stan said, shifting the eggs and bacon from the skillet to a plate. "It wasn't." He set the plate down in front of Ford. "But you cant starve yourself thinking about it." He turned back to the stove, making up Mabel's plate. "Mabel, how many beef slices do you want?"

"Three is fine," Mabel replied, her voice chipper but her eyes hard in a silent warning to Ford. _'Don't upset him.'_

Ford let out a shaky breath and began eating. At least dimension-hopping taught him to choke down any food while he could, no matter what he saw or where it came from. As he ate, he realized that he would have to get the full story from Stanley at SOME point, and try to piece together just what was going on here.

Dipper vanished as soon as breakfast was over. Ford couldn't blame him. He wouldn't want to be in this house after a massacre took place either. He sat back as Stan tidied up the kitchen and sent Mabel off so he could have a talk with his brother.

As soon as the house was quiet, Stan headed to the vending machine. "All the better down here," he said. "I wouldn't want Mabel crashing in and wrecking you." He led the way down the stairs and pressed in the code to go down to the basement, stepping into the elevator. Ford followed, keeping a healthy space between them, taking deep breaths to keep from panicking at this unknown situation.

Stan stepped out of the elevator and into the tech room, grabbing a chair and sitting down. "…It's a long story, Stanford," he said, crossing his arms quietly. "It's long, and it's…painful. And trust me, any weirdness YOU'RE feeling is nothing compared to what I'm currently living through."

Ford swallowed hard, sitting down across from him. "…how did it happen?" he asked quietly. Stan's jaw tightened, fingers flexing tightly into his jacket.

"…Dipper summoned the undead to prove what was in the journal was real," he said, his voice going flat. "They swarmed the Shack…they managed to get Soos first. I came up to get the kids, and wasn't a moment too soon. I managed to get them up to their room in the attic, but…" He reached up, touching his shoulder lightly. "One of the bastards got me. I ran up, made sure the kids were alright…then it…happened."

Ford swallowed thickly as Stan's hand moved from his shoulder to his chest, gripping at the clothing tightly. "…I could feel…like everything inside was dying…and I just felt HUNGRY. Can you comprehend that, Stanford?" His eyes flicked up, and Ford nearly reeled back when he saw the 'dead glow' inside of them.

"Can you comprehend seeing the people you love the most and feeling nothing but hunger? For even one moment, Stanford? That's what I felt. For one moment, I was completely dead inside. And then I heard them screaming. And I came back. I don't know how, but something was going to hurt them, and the hunger turned into just…..PROTECTING them."

His shoulders slumped, the light in his eyes dying out. "…Soos would do anything for those kids, but…even he tried to eat Mabel after they got rid of all the others. I kept him pinned down while they made the cure…which fuckin' HURTS by the way, write THAT in your journal." His hand shook for a moment before he slowly undid his jacket and took it off, loosening his shirt collar and tugging it to the side.

Ford cringed when he saw a patch of skin on Stan's shoulder that looked like someone melted the flesh, let it boil, and then let it cool like hot wax, nothing like a bite mark at all.

Stan shifting his collar back up. "Soos was fine in just two hours. I was out for the rest of the day…my body just…" He looked at his hands. "I felt like I was dead with a heartbeat. That's…just the best way I can describe it. I went to sleep and didn't expect to wake back up." He rubbed his face, sighing.

"…Then I woke up, and…I just felt no pain. My back, my joints, my knees….nothing hurt. Oh, they still crack like a whip…" He flexed his hands and Ford definitely heard soft cracking. "…but nothing hurt anymore. And I was hungry. But nothing I ate felt right." He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained.

"…god, it….it just HIT me. I was outside…and there was a rabbit…and I just…"

"…You ate it," Ford finished, recalling Dipper's writing in the journal.

Stan nodded. "…I ate it," he confirmed. "And worse…Dipper saw. Shit, that…that look he gave me…" He pressed a hand to his mouth. Ford paused, then reached into his jacket and took out his journal.

"…Dipper's…been writing it down," he said, holding the journal in his hands. "…shorthand about the rabbit…some other animal…a…a construction worker—"

A sharp swear from Stan made him flinch. "God, that guy…" Stan muttered, holding a hand to his face. "…animals had been keeping that…HUNGER feeling down…but when I saw him turn to Mabel…!" An inhuman growl left his throat, and Ford's hand pressed against the gun on his thigh.

There was a moment of heavy silence before Stan settled back down. "…I don't know what I would do without those kids, Stanford…" Stan said quietly. "Dipper…he's trying so hard to find a way to 'cure' me…and Mabel…" A sad smile twitched at his lips. "…god, she's such a saint…she's not afraid of me…and she's…she's so afraid someone will find out and take me away from her…"

He hastily wiped at his eyes, sighing. "…I guess she figures if she drives people away before they can make me upset, it'll be better…but I miss her running around with her friends, and having fun without having to worry about me….I miss Dipper not being afraid to just be an annoying kid, walking around on eggshells around me like he's afraid I'll just…snap!"

"…Aren't you afraid you will?" Ford asked. "I mean…how can you be so certain you wont hurt them?" He almost tipped back in the chair when Stan snarled at him, the dead lights flickering back on in his eyes.

"I WILL NEVER HARM MY KIDS!" Stan snapped, his expression wrathful for a moment before it melted into discomfort and pain, his hands clutching at his abdomen. "Ugh…..shit…..not now….!"

"S…Stanley…?" Ford stammered, shifting back. He clambered off of the chair and backed away, his hands shaking in terror as he heard the inhuman growls and groans that were coming from his brother. "Stanley—"

Stan held up a hand in the universal 'shut up' gesture, taking several deep breaths, the gravely rasping subsiding with each one taken until his body relaxed slightly. After a few long, tense moments, Stan sat up, wiping saliva from his chin, only a dim glimmer of the dead light in his eyes.

"…I'm fine," he said, sounding more tired than anything. "…I'm fine, Stanford…you can put that gun away."

Ford looked down at his hand, seeing that he indeed had his gun in his hand. He swallowed hard, putting it back into the holster. "…How often does this happen?" he asked slowly.

"…Whenever I'm stressed," Stan replied. "I usually solve it by eating something…this was minor, considering the insult you just flung my way."

Ford scowled. "It wasn't an INSULT, Stanley," he replied, his voice tight. "It was a legitimate concern. YOU might think you'd never do anything unthinkable to those kids…but there are too many unknown variables here—"

"Not everything is a goddamn science thing for you to analyze, Stanford!" Stan retorted, standing up, his joints audibly cracking. "There are some things I just KNOW! I was a ZOMBIE back that day! SAME as Soos! But my desire to PROTECT those kids was stronger than the urge to EAT them! And no matter how far gone I am, Mabel is able to bring me out of it!" He ignored Ford paling as he stalked past him and toward the elevator. He paused, his hand poised over the control button.

"…I trust myself not to hurt them, as much as Mabel trusts me not to hurt her. And that's a hellova lot more trust than you can even imagine. So get it through your skull. I. Will NEVER. Hurt those kids. You understand me?" He didn't wait for an answer, and pushed the button to open the doors, not looking back as they shut behind him.

Ford sat down hard, the whirring of the elevator fading out and leaving him to his heavy, silent thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

Ford found a good bond with Dipper in several ways. First and foremost was their shared desire to understand Stanley's condition and possibly fix it. Secondly was how concerned for, and to an extent frightened of, their respective twins. At least they found some form of comfort in the third, their love of Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons.

Normally, Ford wouldn't be concerned with pausing his work to play a game, even one he loved, but for one, he found it a decent distraction when he was stuck on any one thing, and also because no matter what he warned, Dipper still made his way down to the basement. He expected the kid to be a hovering, hero-worshipping little jumping bug, but instead the kid just sort of sat in a chair or in the corner, hardly speaking, just waiting to be acknowledged.

So Ford started out with the gameplay at first to maybe entertain Dipper and clear his own mind, but found he genuinely enjoyed Dipper's company. The stony mask the boy wore seemed to melt into just being a kid again whenever they played. Ford got to know Dipper a little more, finding the boy highly intelligent and insightful for his age, and full of potential on the theoretical end of things.

A few days after they began playing, Dipper began opening up more about things that didn't concern D&D& More D. About how he felt like he had to protect his sister, but his sister was the one doing the protecting. About how badly he wanted to cure Stan and have things go back to the way they used to be. About the nightmare-ridden guilt of being the cause of Stan's condition, and the position Mabel put herself up to.

"…and Grunkle Stan made mention of sending us home early," Dipper was saying, not even playing the game set out for them anymore. "…I don't think it's a bad idea, but Mabel…" He chewed his lip. "…Mabel's said she wants to stay here. She thinks Grunkle Stan will fall apart without her." He hugged his knees. "…And I'm…starting to think she's right."

Ford ran a shaking hand through his hair. "…that's not a burden two twelve-year-olds should be facing," he said quietly. It was true, while he enjoyed Dipper's company and even thought the boy had good potential to pass on more of his knowledge to, seeing THIS was just a slap-in-the-face reminded that these were KIDS.

When HE was twelve, he was chasing frogs and insects to document species, working on that old sailboat back in Jersey, having fun on the pier…not having to worry if a relative was going to start a flesh-eating massacre and sacrificing sleep to find a cure for it.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Dipper sniffle softly, seeing the boy hug his legs tighter. "…I…this is all my fault…" Dipper choked out. "I wanted answers so bad…I thought I could handle it…!" He tugged his hat down over his face with both hands. "Now my great-uncle is a MONSTER because of me! And my sister…she…" He swallowed hard.

"…She's having to take care of him," Ford supplied, feeling the urge to hug his own legs to his chest. "Stanley seems….very capable of taking care of himself. He calms himself down if he feels he's slipping…"

"But he CANT calm himself down when he snaps!" Dipper cried, rubbing his eyes furiously. "I was screaming and crying and he was STILL eating that guy! It wasn't until Mabel talks him out of it that he gets some sense back into him!"

He let out a shaking sob. "I…I wanted to call Mom and Dad so many times so we could go home because I'm SCARED! EVERY DAY, I'm afraid that THIS will be the day Mabel CANT talk him out of it! That he just…..SNAPS, and STAYS snapped and I'll…I'll have to do SOMETHING to stop him—"

Ford reached over the game board and tugged Dipper to him tightly, feeling the boy shake violently in his arms as he held him. "You WONT," Ford said firmly, petting at Dipper's back. "I wont let you live with that burden, kid. You shouldn't have to. If anything like that happens, I will take responsibility for it." He clenched his jaw tightly, swallowing hard. "It's my own damn fault for writing that spell down, anyway. I should have kept it archived away, where it wouldn't be mistakenly read."

"But—"

"No buts." Ford sighed, hugging Dipper tighter. "…You're a bright kid, Dipper…just like me. But even I make horrible mistakes. More than you can imagine. It comes with trial-and-error, and…and sometimes, people get caught in the middle, despite your best intentions."

"But I had NO ONE'S best intentions with this but MINE!" Dipper cried, tearing up again. "I just wanted to prove that the journals were telling the truth!" He hugged his legs tightly again, wiping his eyes. "…Grunkle Stan said he always knew this place was weird…and that he tried to protect us from it because it's DANGEROUS. And he's right."

Ford frowned, petting Dipper's back quietly. "…he's not wrong," he replied. "But this isn't his life's work—"

"No, but it's his life NOW," Dipper retorted almost darkly. "I want to cure him, not make him just another entry in the stupid journal."

Ford winced. Dipper had a point, that much was true. "…I'll help you, Dipper," he said. "I…don't want Stanley to be this way, either." He saw in silence for a few minutes before sighing. "…Do you want to finish our campaign?" Dipper shook his head. "…We should at least go up and get something to eat." Dipper nodded and crawled out of Ford's lap, wiping his face dry.

* * *

Mabel sat quietly with her Grunkle Stan on the couch outside, watching the twilight of the forest turn the air a soft orange. She held a cup of hot chocolate in her hands, sipping it quietly, enjoying the solitude.

Stan sat next to her, having a rare moment of true tranquility, when he wasn't putting on a brave face, or a mask to wear to the public. He was relaxed, which was just how Mabel liked it. She didn't like it when Stan got riled up. He always looked like he was in pain when he was upset about something.

She couldn't even imagine how awful it must feel, in the state he was in. Being half-dead and half-alive, with only raw meat able to satisfy his hunger. She knew that upset him, so she tried to be supportive, eating meat with him, even when Dipper swore of meat altogether. But she couldn't blame her brother for that. Dipper was trying so hard to find a cure for their Grunkle. She could forgive his lack of solidarity in the eating department.

Mabel was aware she and Dipper differed on ways to deal with situations like this. Dipper looked at things too critically, like the weirdness they saw was a science project instead of something with feelings. That applied to Grunkle Stan, too. Mabel knew that despite the monster that came out sometimes, the monster was still her Grunkle Stan. Someone who protected them, and kept them from being hurt.

And this was a big adjustment to him, too! Mabel saw the struggle Stan had every day, the guilt of eating raw meat in front of them—at her insistence; she didn't want him being left out at mealtimes—and keeping a hold of the monster. Mabel just wanted him to know that she loved the monster too, that she knew the monster only came out in defense. To protect them, and himself.

It might have backfired with the gremloblin, but Mabel had proven time and again that showing kindness to the monster in Stan made it listen to her.

Looking at her Grunkle Stan being so relaxed in the evening time let her know her efforts to accept him as he was were paying off.

She finished her hot chocolate just as the sun set over the trees, and quietly laid on her side with her head on his leg, wishing every summer day could be as peaceful as this evening now. The happy thought lulled her off to sleep, deftly aware of Stan's hand petting her hair.

Stan sat in blissful silence well after the sky went dark and the stars came out, content to stay there until kingdom come. But as nice as it was, Stan didn't want Mabel to be disturbed by mosquitos, so he gently picked her up and carried her inside and upstairs to the attic. He settled her down on her bed, nudged off her shoes, and tucked her in, kissing her head before heading out.

He wished more than anything that he wasn't like this…THING. That Mabel didn't feel the need to take care of him. That Dipper could see him as a Grunkle instead of a monster to placate and study. That he hadn't subjected his brother to seeing a massacre within fifteen minutes of bringing him back.

He headed down the stairs, pausing when he saw Dipper heading up, feeling his heart clench when his nephew had a brief look of panic pass over his face, eyes darting around for an alternate escape route.

"….where's Mabel?" Dipper asked. Stan sighed; while he may not get physically tired anymore, he felt all the emotional exhaustion could be worse.

"She's asleep," Stan replied. "Like you should be." He shifted to one side of the staircase and passed Dipper up, easily slipping the journal under Dipper's arm into his hand with all the skill of the master pickpocketer he was, such so that it took Dipper a few seconds to realize what he'd done.

"Hey—!"

"I mean it, Dipper," Stan said, holding the journal up. "Go to SLEEP. You can have this back tomorrow at breakfast. Goodnight." He stepped downstairs, hearing Dipper make a soft sound of frustration before heading up with heavier steps than necessary.

Stan sat down in the TV room, holding the journal in his hands, beginning to regret giving it back to Dipper after he was done copying it. He knew what this town was all about, and he still gave Dipper a dangerous piece of it. Dipper was a smart kid, but the fact remained that he was still TWELVE. And twelve-year-olds, smart as they were, did stupid things. Hell, even Stanford tried to see if he could recharge an old electronic using wires, a fork, and an electrical socket once.

Long story short, it took a month to regrow his eyebrows.

He flipped through the journal quietly, thumbing through a few select pieces before he flipped further back to what used to be blank pages, and were now scrawled over in Dipper's handwriting. He frowned, reading them over.

* * *

Ford came up sometime later, in need of the coffee pot again. Dismantling the portal between Dipper's visits was long, tiring work, and he made a mental note to get another coffee pot for downstairs use in the future.

Even before he made it to the kitchen, he could smell it. The scent of raw meat. He swallowed hard, peering around the corner, feeling his heart sink like a lead weight when he saw Stanley standing next to the open fridge, taking out every piece of raw meat inside and shoving it into his mouth, the dead lights in his eyes showing no signs of conscious life. Only hunger.

Ford swallowed back bile and slowly edged his way back around the corner, pressing his back to the wall. His body was shaking violently, and he didn't know if it was from terror or despair, or WHAT.

Across the hall, something caught his peripheral, and he turned his head to see his open journal on the floor in front of the chair. He shifted over quickly, hopefully before Stan saw, and hurried over to pick it up, pausing when he saw that the pages it was open to were Dipper's notes about Stanley's change, terrified annotations and all.

Ford scooped the journal up, hugging it to his chest tightly, feeling a knot form in his chest.

How was he going to fix this?


	7. Chapter 7

It was three in the morning, and Ford was finally asleep after a long night of studying Stanley's condition. But even in his dreams, he was still going over what little data he was provided with.

Stanley still had a pulse, still breathed, and still had brain activity, but the pulse was slow, much slower than normal, until a stress agent was introduced, then it skyrocketed to levels that should induce a heart attack. Brain activity would begin to fizzle and flat-line. Weirdest of all were the 'dead lights'.

Ford coined the term during his last encounter with the undead. It was almost like the reflective quality in the eyes of nocturnal animals, only it could be seen in complete darkness. He figured it was some form of residual magic that came from the curse of raising dead corpses, but it was almost impossible to understand magic.

In his experience, most humans could utilize magic through either objects or through spells, but he didn't know WHY. It came from SOME form of dimension—he personally thought the undead curse came from the Nightmare Realm—and not one he found in this thirty-year hiatus from Earth. Honestly, he was grateful to have not found that place. Cinnamon for the cure was surprisingly impossible to find.

Stanley had the 'dead lights' in his eyes that would come out, even when he wasn't stressed or in 'zombie mode', sometimes when he was simply zoning out. It was like a constant reminder that he was cursed, and that it wasn't just going to go away.

But if Stanley was cursed, there was a way to lift it. That was what Ford theorized, anyway. And although it had been a long time since Stan was bitten, he was still functioning like a human most of the time. They just needed to find a way to completely erase the curse.

It wasn't until his face smacked against the desk of his lab after it fell off his hand that he realized he wasn't even sleeping. He had been imagining he was dreaming.

Well, sleep was a dud, that much was true. He probably wouldn't sleep until he straight-out keeled over from exhaustion, so he might as well get some work done.

But first, coffee.

Ford headed up to the kitchen, passing a clock and sighing when he saw that it was almost noon. At some point, he needed to have SOME semblance of a sleeping schedule before his body gave out. He was getting too old to have such a patchy sleep time.

The house was empty, and Ford absently wondered where everyone was. He made a pot of coffee, then quietly wandered the house with a cup. He hadn't been upstairs much at all. On the second-floor landing was the bathroom, a couple of closets, and Stanley's bedroom. He recognized it as the guest room Fiddleford would stay in, and absently wondered why his brother would choose this room rather than the master bedroom on the first floor. Well, it used to double as a lounge room, but over the years Ford was here, he mostly crashed on the couch and just gave the bed to Fiddleford.

It was surprisingly tidy inside. Going by their shared disregard for tidiness, he expected the room to be worse-off. But then again, HE found himself organizing his belongings when he was bored, so it would stand to reason that Stanley might do the same, now that he had the time to do so. Tidy as it was, it was still personalized and lived-in, giving him a reminder of the childhood room he shared with his twin.

As much as he didn't want to snoop—or even use the pointless excuse of 'It's my house'—Ford couldn't help his curiosity, looking through a couple of things without going TOO in-depth and running the risk of jostling something around. He found nothing surprising. A drawer full of gold jewelry (not TOO out-there), another with boxing gloves and several sets of brass knuckles—

He then opened the bedside table drawer and found a pistol inside, almost slamming it shut. He didn't know why it was so shocking; Stanley made it known that he had several guns hidden around the house, but finding one in Stan's room, and in an easily-accessible place…

Ford swallowed hard, reaching in and picking it up, weighing it in his hand for a moment before taking the clip out, feeling another heavy sense of dread when he saw it was loaded and ready to go. He didn't need deeper thinking to know what this insinuated. Stanley had this gun in the bedside drawer with the intention to use it at some point in the future.

He recalled the pure conviction in Stanley's voice when he told him that he'd never hurt the kids, and now Ford understood why Stan's conviction was so firm. He'd literally kill himself before letting the kids be hurt.

Ford felt a clench of nausea rise in his gut, and he quickly put the gun back in the drawer exactly where he found it and shut the drawer slowly before hurrying out of the room, almost slamming the door shut behind him. He took a few deep, calming breaths before turning to the stairs that led up to the attic.

He elected to go just to get his mind off of the gun, and peeked inside the younger twins' room. It was reasonably furnished, and tidied up just enough to be livable without being suffocating. The sides had an invisible line of whose side dictated what, and he wasn't surprised at the display.

Dipper's side had stacks of books strewn in with stacks of spiral notebooks and loose leafs of paper. Here and there were chewed-up pens and the occasional article of clothing. Dipper's bed was unkempt with even more pieces of paper sticking out from the sheets.

Mabel's side was a burst of color, with posters and photo collages on the wall. Yarn and knitting needles were sitting on the end of the bed, which looked as though she at least made an effort to make in the mornings. She also had an impressive collection of sweaters, and judging by the yarn collection, they were all hand-made.

Ford looked around the room, scowling at the triangular window between the beds, feeling the urge to shoot it out on instinct. Instead, he turned to leave, and spotted a curtained-off little nook of the attic. He figured that was where Stanley had stashed a few things to make room for the twins, but peeked behind it anyway.

There were mostly cardboard boxes stashed away, nothing surprising. He was about to close the curtain when he saw little dots of red on one of the boxes. Frowning, he knelt down to the box, his hands hovering over it for a moment before he opened it.

Inside the box were clothes. Ford wouldn't have thought it that odd, had it not been for the slightly off stench coming from them. He swallowed hard and reached in, lifting it out. The clothing on top was one of Stanley's suits, torn with a splatter of greenish gore that Ford immediately recognized as zombie fluid. A thought occurred; was THIS was Stanley was wearing when he was infected?

Ford looked back into the box, seeing a colorful sweater and pulling it out. It was definitely 'Mabel' in design, a pretty pink number with a colorful picture of a shooting star over the front. It would have been absolutely darling had it not been splattered irreparably in blood.

Although he logically knew that the stain being dry and this being packed away meant it happened days, if not weeks, ago, he still felt the urge to run outside and search until kingdom come to make sure the kids were alright. He held the bloody sweater in his hands tightly, forcing himself to take several calming breaths.

He couldn't see Dipper being the one to keep these macabre souvenirs, and he was certain Stanley wouldn't want to save any clothing that reminded him of his own monstrosity, so that only left Mabel. Why would she keep these? Granted, the sweater WAS quite nice and would be difficult to throw away if she made it herself, but why keep it, AND Stanley's ruined suit jacket?

He swallowed hard, glancing back into the box again, feeling his skin crawl slightly when he found an item at the bottom.

It was a knife; not a plain kitchen knife, but a bowie hunting knife. On a whim, Ford reached into his pocket and took out a specialized penlight that worked similar to a black light and shone it inside at the knife. Just as he thought it might, it picked up wiped-off smears of blood.

Ford put the penlight back into his pocket and shoved the clothing back into the box, pushing it away and backing from the attic nook, feeling the sudden urge to take a shower.

…ugh, forget 'urge', it was a necessity, as long as he'd been in the basement.

* * *

He returned to the basement after the shower and crashed out on the cot, managing a few hours of black-out unconsciousness, though the last few moments were full of nothing but yellow, glaring eyes before he jerked awake.

It was almost midnight by then, and he dragged himself upstairs to pilfer something out of the fridge, pausing when he saw the back porch light on and the back door open. He frowned, creeping over silently, hearing voices before he could peek outside.

"—and anyone is better than Bud Gleeful," Mabel's small voice said. "…I wish you would run, Grunkle Stan."

There was a soft chuckling from Stan. "I'm hardly suitable to be mayor, sweetie," he replied.

A huffy sigh. "Please, you'd be perfect. Who better to be mayor of Gravity Falls than you? You're what makes this place weird and great." A soft beat of silence. "…Bud will just make things horrible. He might try to break Gideon out of jail…or worse, try to destroy the Shack!"

It might have been Ford's imagination, but he could have SWORN he heard Stan growl.

"…Sweetie, I can PROMISE you this. No matter what, he is NOT touching the Shack. So don't you worry about that."

Mabel sighed. "…do what you gotta, Grunkle Stan," she said. "I know you'll protect all of us."

Ford swallowed hard, slowly edging back until he was in the gift shop, hastily punching in the code and hurrying back to the elevator. He wasn't very hungry anymore.

* * *

Two days later, he was passing through the house to get something to drink when Dipper raised his voice from the TV room.

"Hey, guys, the news said that Bud Gleeful's gone missing!"

The cup Ford had been holding fell from his hands and shattered on the floor.


	8. Chapter 8

_**This chapter is longer than the others, but I didn't want to separate it up. Also, I'm very lazy. :P**_

* * *

For once, Ford found himself dropping off to sleep in what used to be his old room, his body succumbing to the comfort of the soft cushion and light rain against the window as he read through some of his notes. It was night time, and he figured he'd just take a nap while everything was quiet, lying down on the couch and closing his eyes.

It hardly seemed seconds later that his eyes snapped open, seeing a wide prairie in front of him. His eyes flickered around. To his left he saw an eternally-unfinished boat. To his right, a solitary swing set. He could sense the portal behind him, like an eternal ghoulish reminder of his biggest mistake.

—No, his broken promises to Stanley was his biggest mistake—

—or was it the first dream he ever had—

Ford clenched his hands in his hair, muttering _'shut up shut up shut up'_ over and over again. He DIDN'T need this internal pissing match again! He grumbled to himself, becoming aware that a wind was picking up across the beige-colored sky that blew the plains back around him. From the air, he could hear laughter.

Familiar laughter.

"I know that laugh…" he murmured, straightening up and looking around wildly. "SHOW YOURSELF!" He stepped back when a flash of light beamed out in front of him, and the amused for of Bill Cipher appeared.

"Well well well," Bill said, hovering over Ford's Mindscape form. "Stanford Filbrick Pines! Arent you a sight for sore e _ye_. Got a little greyer in the hair, didn't ya?"

"Bill Cipher," Ford replied, grimacing. "What do you want!?" He recoiled back when Bill slipped up next to him and slung a spindly arm around his shoulders.

"Oh, don't play dumb, Sixer, you knew I'd be back!" the demon retorted, ruffling Ford's hair. "You couldn't keep ME away forever. I've been chatting with old friends, making deals…" If Bill were capable of smirking, Ford was sure he'd be seeing one right now. "…keeping an **eye on your family**."

Ford scowled, swatting at Bill. "You stay away from them!" he snapped. "This has NOTHING to do with them, Cipher! This is between me and you!"

Bill laughed. "Oh, you're so naïve, Sixer!" he said, crossing his arms behind his back. "Just like last time. All the pieces are there, but you cant see them right out in front of you." His eye flashed red, the pupil slitting dangerously, holding up his hand and forming an image of the rift in it. "It'll be easy-peasy getting this rift. Sooner or later, my puppet will FINALLY be ready."

Ford paled, swallowing hard. "Puppet?" he weakly demanded. Bill juggled the rift between his hands.

"Oh yeah," Bill replied. "At first, I thought I'd go for Pine Tree. Paranoid, sleep-deprived…just ready and waiting for the picking. Plus, I know his body inside and out by this point." He tossed the rift in an arc over his head, and Ford felt his hands flinch instinctively.

"THEN I thought, oh, why not Shooting Star? That little lump of sugar is ALMOST ripe for doing my bidding." He tossed the rift over his head and caught it with his free hand behind his back.

"But then, why not go for the **BEST PUPPET OF ALL**?"

He threw the rift to the ground, where it shattered and showed a horrifying image of a fiery tear in the universe. Ford unconsciously backed up, feeling his body shake when a beastly, bloody image of a fully-zombified Stanley crawled out of the rift, all humanity gone with several demonic features making his image all the more terrifying.

"NO!" Ford shouted, glowering hatefully at Bill. "THAT WONT HAPPEN! GET OUT OF HERE! YOU'LL NEVER HAVE DOMINION IN OUR WORLD!"

Bill laughed, hovering over the nightmarish form of Stanley. "Maybe not right now, but things change, Stanford Pines." His body went transparent, melding down into Stanley's body, making it stand up straight, eyes glowing with bright gold dead lights and slitted pupils. A wide, cruel grin spread across his face, showing bloody, sharp teeth.

 _ **"THINGS CHANGE."**_

Ford cringed back, covering his ears as deafening laughter rang through his head, louder and louder and louder—

He jerked upright on the couch, panting and shaking in a drenching cold sweat. He rubbed his face, making for CERTAIN he was actually awake.

A thousand and one thoughts ran through his head, and he fought to focus in on only solutions instead of bad outcomes. He had to make sure that everyone was safe from Bill!

* * *

The 'family meeting' was not really up to the snuff Ford had hoped for.

For one, Stanley was absent. Mabel said he was 'out getting dinner', and quite frankly, Ford didn't want any details, especially after the news of Bud Gleeful going missing. Secondly, he learned that Dipper had been previously possessed by Bill, which was especially troubling. Bill hardly ever made open-and-shut deals, and Ford was worried that Dipper's mind and body could still be at risk for possession.

And then there was Mabel. His discomfort around her never faded, and was only heightened after finding that stashaway box in the attic; he didn't know if he could truly trust her with information on the rift. But he NEEDED help in this, and quite frankly, Dipper was his best option.

He pulled out the original floor plans for the house and began jotting down the materials needed to make a 'Bill-proof' barrier around it. There were several methods, granted, but he had an on-the-spot plan for this one.

"…we just need to place moonstones here and here…sprinkle some mercury…" he muttered. "…Let's see, I ALWAYS forget the last ingredient…" He pulled out his first journal and flipped through it. "Ugh," he said, only PARTIALLY pretending to be disgusted. "Unicorn hair."

It was a gamble to be sure, but he was surprised at the spark of genuine childlike interest that gleamed in Mabel's eyes. Dipper just looked dubious.

"…that's not…rare, is it?" the boy asked.

"Unicorns reside in an enchanted glade, and their hair can only be obtained by a pure-hearted person who goes on a magical quest to find it."

Mabel beamed. "Great-Uncle Ford, can I PLEASE go?" she asked, hopping out of her chair. "I am LITERALLY obsessed with unicorns! My first word was 'unicorn', I once made my own unicorn by taping a traffic cone onto a horses head—ARE YOU EVEN LOOKING AT THE SWEATER I'M WEARING RIGHT NOW!?" She tugged at her sweater, which did, indeed, have an embroidered unicorn on it.

"Plus, I'm probably the most pure-of-heart person in this room."

He wasn't about to argue there, right or wrong.

"So can I go on this mission!?" Mabel begged. "Please please please? I'LL GIVE YOU MY BLOOD!"

Ford swallowed, fighting back the guilt he was feeling at having to trick Mabel into going on this quest. He learned the true, horrible nature of unicorns long ago, and hated to have something Mabel was genuinely ecstatic about be crushed. But on the off-chance she DID succeed…

"Very well. Take this." He handed her the journal, the least he could do. "And here." He handed her a crossbow. "You know how to use it?"

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Better than Dipper knows how to handle a shower," she retorted, then pulled out a cell phone, dialing someone up as she hurried out.

Dipper turned to Ford when Mabel was out of the house. "…so what are the odds she succeeds on that bogus mission?" he asked, his voice oddly blank. Ford felt heat in his cheeks.

"…Unlikely," he admitted. "I've dealt with unicorns before, and if I had to describe them in one word, it would be….'frustrating'."

"Mabel's not going to like that you tricked her," Dipper said, slipping out of his chair. "Unicorns are basically her go-to comfort animals. And I haven't seen her so happy about something since…a long time."

Ford winced, feeling a heavier sense of guilt. "I wasn't lying when I said we needed unicorn hair," he said. "It IS a very effective and safe method for protecting this place…and I never said unicorns were nice."

Dipper sighed. "You've never had to argue semantics with Mabel before," he replied. "If you want 'frustrating', you'll get your 'frustrating'." He adjusted his hat. "…So, what do we do while she's gone?"

"Follow me," Ford said, heading to the vending machine, leading the way to the elevator and punching in another code that Dipper didn't recognize. They stepped inside and Dipper looked up when the elevator stopped at **2**.

"Welcome to my private study," Ford said, opening the door to show a messy, more elegant office-styled room. "This is where I keep my most ancient and secret knowledge. Even your Uncle Stan doesn't know about this place."

Dipper bit his lip, glancing around. "I wouldn't be so sure," he said slowly. "He DID have thirty years to look this place top and bottom…" He grabbed a cloth covering a portrait.

"Dipper, come along!" Ford called over from the other side of the room. "If we cant Bill-proof the Shack, then the next best thing will be to Bill-proof our minds." He lifted a device from a metal drawer.

* * *

The day started out so well for Mabel.

She had one of the journals entrusted to her by Ford, her friends she hadn't seen in a good while, and a mission to find one of her favorite not-so-mythical creatures on a quest of her own.

They found the magical gateway, found the unicorn, and then Mabel practically prostrated herself before the creature. Perhaps, if her heart wasn't pure, her intentions WERE. She wanted the hair to protect her family. That was pure, right?

It was apparently not enough…and it began leaving Mabel with heavy doubts. For the past few weeks, she had empathized heavily with her Grunkle Stan…that the things he did—lying, stealing toxic waste, eating a government agent—was all for his family, to make it whole again, and protect everyone. The things SHE did was for her family too.

Right?

She didn't want her friends to see her begging Celestabellabethabelle as hard as she was going to, so she told them she wanted to be alone, and for them to go back home. Lucky for her, they left her to it, and she went back inside.

The unicorn was reading by the waterfall, hardly looking up when she came back in.

"Please," Mabel said, sitting down and clenching her hands into her skirt. "PLEASE, Celestabellabethabelle, I NEED a lock of your hair!" Her eyes felt watery, and she blinked back tears. "It's not for me, it's for my FAMILY! To PROTECT them!" She sniffled. "I…I know I've done wrong…but THAT was to protect my family too!"

"Those impure of heart are unworthy of my hair, child," the unicorn replied almost flippantly. "An impure heart would taint the magic my hair provides!" She tossed her head, her rainbow-glistening hair fluttering slightly. "I'm sorry, it's not MY fault you're a bad person."

Mabel felt as though someone had pierced her body with an icicle, her hands shaking hard and eyes leaking with an overflow of tears. "I'm…I'm not bad…" she squeaked, her throat tight. "I…I didn't…" She hiccoughed, crying harder. "I DIDN'T DO IT TO BE BAD!" Her sudden increase in vocal volume seemed to startle the unicorn, but she didn't notice.

"He…he was going to do something b-bad to Grunkle Stan…!" Mabel's body shook, her voice almost haunted. "That man…he w-was going to take Grunkle Stan away from me…do something BAD to him…!" Her hands clenched around the neck of her sweater, tugging it up close to her mouth, about 3/4ths of the way into Sweater Town. "I…I didn't know what else to DO…!" She sobbed harder. "PLEASE, CELESTABELLABETHABELLE! I DIDN'T KILL HIM TO BE BAD! I WAS PROTECTING MY GRUNKLE STAN!"

"Whoa whoa, are you kidding me?"

A startled Celestabellabethabelle and Mabel looked up, and Mabel saw two more unicorns trot out from the forest. "Yo, C-Beth, are you SERIOUSLY pulling this pure-of-heart scam again?" one of them asked.

Mabel's jaw dropped. "….scam…?" she said weakly. The other unicorn sighed.

"Look, kid," he said, "unicorns cant see into your heart. All our dumb horns can do is glow, point towards the nearest rainbow, and play rave music." It proceeded to demonstrate with an oddly catchy beat.

"Yeah," the other said, "this whole 'pure of heart' racket is just a line we unicorns use to get humans to leave us alone."

Celestabellabethabelle glanced at them almost nervously. "Guuuuuys," she hissed. "Shut up…!"

Mabel stared at them for a long moment before clenching her hands tightly, feeling a spike of rage inside of her. "…all this time…" she muttered, her voice shaking as badly as her hands, "…all this time I thought I was a bad person…" She jumped up, snarling at the unicorn. "BUT YOU'RE EVEN WORSE THAN I AM!"

The unicorn took a step back, but huffed. "Okay, fine. You learned our secret. We're jerks, okay? We have more hair than we know what to do with, and we keep it to ourselves just to tick humans off. So what are you gonna do about it, huh? Huh?" She leaned down, staring at Mabel smugly. "What are you gonna do?"

Mabel didn't even think twice before she gave the unicorn the strongest left hook she could manage, her fist coming back splattered in a mother-of-pearl sheen of blood. Blood pounded in her ears as she grabbed the embroidered unicorn on her sweater and tore it off.

Celestabellabethabelle snorted out more blood, snarling. "Oh, it's a FIGHT you want? Well, it's a fight YOU'RE going to g—"

She was silenced when an arrow from Mabel's crossbow pierced her neck.

Everything was dead silent for a few beats in time before the unicorn collapsed on the ground, twitching. Mabel glowered at the other two unicorns, who wisely backed away before galloping off.

Mabel walked over to the dead unicorn and grabbed a pair of scissors from her pocket, cutting off nearly everything from the mane, and stuffed it into her bag before pulling the arrow out of the unicorn's neck. Without a second look back, she left the unicorn domain, slamming the gate shut behind her.

* * *

Dipper could feel himself close to dozing off as the mind scanner encrypted his thoughts. He yawned, glancing back behind him, fighting back a groan when he saw the scanner was only 15% through. He rubbed his eyes, looking over at Ford, who was dozing off at his desk.

He found his thoughts wandering toward his great-uncle, his naturally-set paranoia making him wonder why the man had to be so secretive about Bill. Dipper had an unwelcomely intimate encounter with the demon, so what else was there to hide? He knew what Bill was capable of; heck, he still had the fork prong scars to prove it! So why skirt around the issue?

' _Use the machine!'_ he thought. _'It'll show you HIS thoughts! The more you know about Bill, the more you can help!'_

This was true.

He took off the device and tiptoed over to Ford, putting it on the man's head. "What are you hiding about Bill?" he murmured, turning to the screen, swallowing hard when he saw an image of the demon flicker on.

An overlay of Fiddleford's voice pleading, _"Where are these ideas coming from? WHO are you working with!?"_

 _ **TRUST NO ONE**_

 _ **I'M LOSING MY MIND**_

 _ **CANT BE REAL**_

" _Then it's a deal."_ Dipper's eyes widened when he saw a younger image of his great-uncle extend his hand out. _"From now until the end of time."_

" _ **Just let me into your mind, Stanford!"**_ came Bill's voice as his hand too extended, encased in blue flames.

" _Please, call me a FRIEND."_

Ford's image came up, an inhuman, cruel smile across his face, eyes blazing gold with slitted pupils, laughing manically.

Dipper shakily took a step back, trembling. "F…Ford and Bill…" he stammered, then glanced behind him, seeing his great-uncle stand up and face him.

"…You shouldn't have done that," Ford(?) said, taking off the helmet and shoving it away, the helmet catching onto a cloth on the wall and tearing it down. Dipper felt his body go numb when he saw the walls lined with Bill's image, crystal pyramids decorating stands, and in the middle of it all, a golden idol image of the demon glinting ominously in the dim lighting of the room.

Dipper felt his heart racing, backing up. "Why…were you shaking hands with Bill?" he said, reaching out and grabbing the rift on the table, holding it tightly as he backed further. Ford(?) held out his hand.

"Hand me the rift," he said. "Now, boy!"

Dipper jumped at the sharpness of the command, grabbing a memory gun off the table and pointing it at Ford(?). "GET BACK!" he shouted, the gun shaking in his hand. "I'M WARNING YOU!"

Ford(?) faltered a step. "Just calm down, p—"

"PINE TREE!?" Dipper snapped, his voice going hysterical. "IS THAT WAS YOU WERE GOING TO CALL ME, BILL!?"

"I WAS GOING TO SAY 'PLEASE'!" Ford(?) said. "It's ME, Dipper, it's your uncle!"

Dipper backed up further until his back hit a wall, his pupils constricted in panic and fear. "DON'T YOU COME NEAR ME!" he screamed. "IF I DISAPPEAR, GRUNKLE STAN WILL EAT YOU! HE'LL EAT YOU IF MABEL DOESN'T KILL YOU FIRST! "

"Dipper, PLEASE—"

"Trust no one trust no one trust no one trust no one trust no one—" Dipper mantra'd, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"—HAND IT TO ME!"

Dipper pulled the trigger.

The beam of energy bounced off of Ford's glasses, ricocheting around the room. It almost hit Dipper, but Ford shoved the boy to the ground, covering Dipper's body with his own until the beam smashed into the console screen. When the room went silent, Dipper flailed and struggled under Ford, hyperventilating.

Ford sat up, holding Dipper's shoulders tightly. "Calm down!" he said as calmly as he himself could muster. "Look at me, Dipper! Look at my eyes!" He lifted his glasses. "Look at my pupils! It's me, Dipper, it's me."

Dipper's breathing evened out, but came out heavier as his body slumped. Ford sighed, pushing the memory gun away, looking back at Dipper and realizing with a start that the boy was crying in silent, shaking hysterics. "Oh, Dipper…" He reached out and pulled Dipper to him. Dipper sniffed, clinging to Ford's jacket tightly, his tears soaking the man's sweater.

"'m sorry…" Dipper whimpered, his whole body shaking. "I….I thought…!"

"I know," Ford replied. "It's okay, Dipper…I should have told you the truth about me and Bill. He tricked me once, a long time ago. I found the inscriptions to summon him in a cave while exploring the mysteries of Gravity Falls, and he came to me in a dream. He told me he was a muse…that he chose one brilliant mind a century to inspire…" He swallowed hard. "And I fell for it. I let him have free reign of my mind as he pleased…and he showed me how to make that portal."

He let out a shaky sigh. "…then my partner got a glimpse of his TRUE plan…I found out he lied to me, and that the portal was a gateway to the Nightmare Realm. I shut it down and hid my journals so it couldn't be operational again…but now there's the rift." He glanced down at the swirling vortex in the container. "…To Bill, it's just a game. But for us, it would mean the end of our world."

He heard Dipper let out another choked sob, and winced slightly, sighing softly as he slipped the rift into his pocket and tucked his arms around Dipper's body, picking him up and carrying him out of that room, making a mental note to finally get around to burning the paraphernalia in that room as soon as possible.

Dipper had zonked out by the time he walked out of the basement. Ford carried him up to his room and tucked him in, patting the boy's head before heading downstairs and sitting at the table, putting his face in his hands.

He had underestimated just how damaged that child was when it came to Bill. He guessed now that 'Pine Tree' was the epitaph that Bill saddled Dipper with, and now the boy was triggered by it. The psychological scarring was just as deep as his own. God, what was he going to do NOW?

Ford jumped violently when something slammed on the table in front of him, and he very nearly went for his gun, managing to stop himself as he looked up and saw Mabel standing in front of him, having slammed the journal down on the table. He frowned, about to ask her what that was all about when she reached into her bag and took out an entire mane's worth of unicorn hair and sat it down on top of the journal, her expression oddly blank in silent anger.

He gaped at the sheer amount of hair she managed to get, and turned to give her a genuine shower of praise, but his voice caught in his throat when he saw her clothes splattered with the rainbow-like sheen of unicorn blood, her hand clenched around a bloody arrow. The embroidered unicorn on her sweater was torn off, and he could see tear tracks on her face.

"…Mabel…"

Mabel turned on heel and headed back outside, letting the door slam behind her.

Ford winced, looking down at the unicorn hair, feeling a heavy weight of guilt fall on his shoulders, regretting putting ANOTHER child through pain, and picked up his journal to tuck it away, frowning when he saw something sticking out from the pages. He opened it up to where the item was, and saw that it was on his entry on unicorns.

The entire section was scribbled out in marker and smears of unicorn blood.

 **LIARS**

 **LIARS**

 **LIARS**

 **LIARS**

 **LIARS**

 **LIARS**

The word was scrawled in over and over and over, the bookmark to it all the torn embroidered unicorn from her sweater.

Ford slammed the journal shut and pushed it away from him, feeling a wave of nausea rise up his throat. He crossed his arms on the table and buried his face in them, his shoulders shaking with silent sobbing.


	9. Chapter 9

Ford didn't know if it was a good or bad thing that Stan apparently didn't know about the worsening strain on the niblings' already-fragile psyches he inflicted on them that day, but he didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth. At the moment, he was uneaten, and that was fine by him.

What WASN'T fine were the night terrors that worsened for Dipper, and the constant state of unrest the boy was in that wasn't healthy at all for a 12-year-old. Even though the barrier around the Shack was functioning, Dipper's nightmares didn't get any less terrifying. Over the course of a week, Ford would be down on the first floor of the Shack as he normally was in the night periods, and he would hear a blood-curdling scream from the attic.

Stanley was always ahead of him in getting to the twins' attic, no matter where he was in the Shack. Ford would finally make it to their room and see Stan trying to calm Dipper down, more often than not to little avail. Even Mabel would have difficulty bringing him out of it. After the third night, everyone found out that Ford had the most success in calming Dipper down.

It took convincing, though. Ford would have to come inside slowly to show Stanley that he was unarmed, trying not to panic at his twin's glowing eyes and protective growling. Mabel would be next to her demi-dead great-uncle, her expression accusing, like she KNEW he had something to do with Dipper's worsening condition. And Ford would choke down the guilt, calm Dipper down, and let the boy cry into his sweater for as long as he needed to.

It was the eighth night—technically morning—and Ford came down the stairs after tucking Dipper back into bed, the front of his sweater bearing a tear-stained wet patch, not that he could be assed to care. He walked into the kitchen, swallowing hard when he saw that Stanley was already there, sipping some coffee.

He stood in the doorway awkwardly until Stan sighted.

"You can get your coffee, Stanford," Stan said, sounding more tired than anything. "I wont bite."

Ford didn't know if he wanted to balk or laugh at the tasteless double entendre, but he crossed the kitchen and got himself a cup of coffee, pausing before sitting at the table across from his twin, sipping the hot drink and appreciating that Stan had made it strong.

After a few minutes of tense silence, he spoke up. "…There are…several ways I could remedy his sleeping problems," he said thickly, his fingers flexing into the warmth of the cup. "But…they're not long-term solutions…and the end of summer is close."

Stan scowled at his cup, but his eyes held sadness. "I know," he replied. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face. "…Mabel wants to stay. She doesn't want to go back home to Piedmont."

Ford swallowed hard, nodding quietly. "I gathered as much," he said. "She's…she's very protective of you."

"Don't sugarcoat it, Ford," Stan said. "She's not just protective of me, she'd driving herself into a literal crazy frenzy to keep me safe, and I hate it!" He scowled, his fingers cracking as they flexed into the table. "You don't understand, Ford…Mabel…she used to be the brightest, happiest light in the world…I would literally do anything to put a smile on that kid's face…but I hardly see her smile anymore…"

"…I don't mean to be indelicate, Stanley, but there's not much to smile FOR," Ford replied quietly. "You're a partially-undead on a constant hair-trigger, Dipper has night terrors, and I'm an unwelcome intruder in all this…and…admittedly…the one to blame for all of it." His eyes stared into the murky black of his cup. "If I hadn't written down that damn spell…built that portal…then we wouldn't have two traumatized children, and you'd be—"

"Probably dead," Stan added on, taking a gulp of his coffee. "No use arguing that. I was in some shady business when you called for me thirty years ago, Stanford. I was probably a week away from being cut to pieces in a warehouse somewhere because I owed the wrong guys money. So small mercies THERE. But we're getting off-topic." He drained the rest of the cup, pushing it away from him. "What are we going to do about the kids?"

Ford chewed his lip, his fingers twitching slightly. "…they cant stay here," he replied. "It's not good for their health…they need to get away from here…"

"I know that, Stanford," Stan replied testily. "I've already talked to them about sending them home early, but Mabel through a fit!" He clenched his hands. "Dipper wants to leave, and I cant blame him. But how can I send him home in the state he's in?! How can I explain to his parents why he's having night terrors and jumps at his own shadow, and why he has a pathological fear of goddamn triangles?!"

There was another long, uncomfortable silence. Ford had his cup drained by the time it ended.

"…Stanley, I'm going to ask you to please stay inside the house for a while."

Stan looked up, scowling. "What the hell for?" he demanded. "Look, Ford, you've been pretty damn secretive since you got back, and I'm pretty sure that some of Dipper's condition is because of you." His eyes glowed with the dead lights, making Ford incredibly nervous. "And you're damn right, you SHOULD be afraid. I can SMELL your fear. I can SMELL that you're keeping something from me, and I want to know what it is."

"Stanley…I cant—"

"IF YOU CAN TRUST A TWELVE-YEAR-OLD CHILD WITH IT, YOU CAN TRUST ME!"

Ford jumped at the volume of Stanley's voice, his hands shaking as he forced them to stay on the table unless he KNEW he was in trouble. He forced his breathing to even out, trying to drown out the growls he was hearing; the distinct, subtle scent of death coming from across the table.

"Stanley," he began again. "If I tell you, you have to PROMISE me to STAY IN THE HOUSE. These things go hand-in-hand. If you cant promise me to stay inside, then I cant tell you everything I know."

He flinched when Stan snarled, but breathed easy when his twin settled back, the growling subsiding. Stan clenched his hands tightly, forcing back his stress response, mulling over his choices.

"…I'm going to get hungry," he finally said. Ford let out a heavy, shaking breath.

"Then I'll GET you food," he replied. "Anything you want, I'll….I'll get it for you." He swallowed hard, well aware of what 'anything' could mean. "…But…I'm afraid, Stanley…that you're the most susceptible to what's coming." He pushed off from the table, motioning for Stan to follow him, and headed down to the basement.

As the elevator lowered, he held an internal debate of whether or not this was a good idea, letting Stanley in on this. But at least if Stanley knew how dire the situation was, he might be more inclined to stay inside the house and cooperate.

And his twin had a point…Dipper WAS just twelve years old. Having his body be possessed by Bill had to have been traumatizing enough without exacerbating it with the news of what the rift would do if it broke out of containment.

Ford walked out of the elevator and over to a locked cabinet, taking out his key and unlocking it, pulling out a thick case. He set the case on the desk, taking a deep breath and letting it out.

"…You know, Mabel was correct in her first assumption of me," he said quietly, his hands trembling. "I wanted to punch your lights out for starting that portal back up…because of how damn close you were to dooming us all." He looked up, his eyes haunted. "I explained to you thirty years ago that the portal created a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension. When it's fully charged, that hole is ripped open…and what can come through the other side was not worth bringing me back for."

"That wasn't for you to decide," Stan replied.

"It WAS," Ford snapped back. "It was also my decision to dismantle it…but I wasn't able to get rid of the rift." He opened the case, taking out the contained rift and holding it up. "This here is the most dangerous thing in our world," he said. "A tear in our dimension that never closed…and it can probably never be closed. I was able to contain it before it stabilized, but I'm not naïve enough to think that can last forever."

Stan frowned, staring at the rift, which reminded him of a lava lamp. It was almost mesmerizing to look at, especially considering what exactly it WAS. "Is that glass?" he asked, arching a brow. "Why not, I don't know, bullet-proof glass or a black box or something?"

"Look, I had to work with what I had!" Ford replied, putting the rift carefully back in the case. "I didn't have anything else on hand!"

Stan massaged his temples, sighing. "Ford. Seriously. For a genius, you can be so damn dense." He scowled. "THIS is why you need to inform me of these things! I could have had any of those things bought and here by now! I can HELP you with these things!"

"Your track record for 'helping' is spotty, at best," Ford replied, closing the case. "So you'll forgive me if you're not on the top of my list." He yelped when Stan shoved him back.

"You are SUCH a pretentious ASS!" Stan snapped, his eyes glowing brightly. "THIRTY YEARS, Stanford! YOU'VE suffered! I'VE suffered! Only difference is, I'VE actually done some goddamn GROWING UP! I've been LEARNING about this paranormal bullshit that's practically torn my family apart! I've been adjusting to this…..THING!...I've become, submitting myself to your stupid tests because I FUCKING TRUST YOU TO HELP ME! So WHY cant YOU give ME the same courtesy!?"

Ford swallowed hard, his hands shaking slightly, trying not to panic at having his twin yelling at him with dead light eyes and a distorted voice. But it was also that last bit ringing in his head that had him shaken.

 _I FUCKING TRUST YOU TO HELP ME_

It wasn't just Stanley submitting mindlessly to cure tests…Stanley actually TRUSTED him to find a cure for his condition. Trusted him WITH his condition. He didn't know why it was making his chest constrict tightly, like it did when he saw Dipper's reaction to his own past with Bill.

 _Guilt._

He was feeling guilt.

Guilt for his own journal entry putting Stanley in this predicament.

Guilt for betraying Stanley's trust in him pertaining to the children.

Guilt for—yet again—underestimating Stanley's capacity for understanding something, if someone actually took the time to explain it.

Ford stumbled over to his chair and sat down hard, pushing his glasses up and rubbing his face.

"…Alright," he said softly, looking up almost helplessly. "…there's…more you need to know…about who wants this rift, and why you need to stay inside the house."

Stan crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall, his expression neutral, but eyes as bright as ever.

"I'm listening."


	10. Chapter 10

Stanford stared up at the ceiling of his room, trying to slow the rapid beating of his heart that started going ninety to nothing several hours ago, and never quite slowed down since.

He'd told Stanley everything he could; about Bill, about being tricked into creating the portal, about what the portal's purpose was actually FOR. His twin took the explanation in stride, remaining silent to allow Ford to tell the whole story, and then told him to PLEASE. For the love of GOD. Go upstairs before he did something he was going to regret.

Considering the almost overwhelming scent of death that Stanley was emitting, Ford didn't object in the least. He wanted Stanley to stay inside, and the basement was the next best thing for having a blood rage without hurting anyone.

Ford's hand slipped off of the couch and rested on the case that contained the rift. Stanley was right. He needed something better to contain it for the time being until a more permanent plan could be utilized. Bulletproof material could take a while to find, but that was longer than he could bear. Something had to be done SOON.

The closest solution that he could think of was the alien adhesive. It wouldn't even take the whole day to go in, get the adhesive, and come back. It would even take less time if he brought the rift with him—

No, no…he couldn't risk breaking it if he took a wrong step. Perhaps he could bring—NO. For one, Dipper would never be able to control his panic in the state he was in. Also, he was pretty sure either Stanley or Mabel would kill him, and he honestly couldn't tell which fate he dreaded most.

He briefly toyed with the idea of asking Mabel, but he honestly wasn't sure if he could trust her not to push him off of a ledge and call it an accident. It was a horrible thing to think, but the looks she was giving him recently didn't exactly help his paranoia.

And as he told Stanley, his twin was the most susceptible to Bill, what with the brain activity flat-lines when under duress, and Bill wasn't even TRYING to be subtle when he showed his plans for Stanley. Ford knew Bill was only forthright when he was shoving it in someone's face, a sort of 'ha-ha, look at what you cant change even if you tried!'.

So no. He had to do this alone.

Stanley knew how important the rift was for safekeeping. If he told Stanley to guard the basement until he got back…

Yes. That could work.

Ford closed his eyes, hoping for a couple of hours of shut-eye before going out. He had a plan. This could work. It had to.

* * *

Mabel sat outside, up earlier than normal with her hot cocoa, watching the sunrise. Here she was, about a week from her shared birthday with Dipper, having serious thought of what she was going to do.

She didn't want to leave her Grunkle Stan here alone. It wasn't that she didn't trust him to behave, it was everyone else she couldn't trust. She loved Gravity Falls, but she knew that most people here wouldn't understand what happened to Stan. And what if the FBI came back? Realistically, she could go to school in Gravity Falls with Grenda and Candy…she really did miss having FUN with her friends.

But there was also Dipper to consider. Her twin was slowly breaking mentally and emotionally every day he was here. What he needed was to leave this place and get therapy…or maybe very closely-monitored rounds with the memory gun. Anything that would give him a full night of sleep.

Perhaps…it would be best if Dipper have his memories of Grunkle Stan's condition and Bill's influence erased and he went home while she stayed here. It seemed like the best solution for everyone.

Now if only she could figure out what to do with Great-Uncle Stanford.

Speaking of the devil, the man walked out of the Shack, adjusting a bag over his shoulder before freezing when he saw Mabel. This was the first time they had been alone since he arrived, and it was just as uncomfortable as he imagined it would be. She gave him a look that plainly said she wasn't appreciative of his company, and he attempted to return it with a semblance of politeness.

"…Good morning," he said, his hands flexing into the strap of his bag. "…You're up early."

"So are you," she replied, taking a sip of her cocoa without breaking eye contact. "And you're going somewhere."

Uncomfortable shift of weight. "…I am."

"Where?"

"Just…out."

"You're a horrible liar. Hard to believe you and Grunkle Stan are twins."

Ford sighed, this conversation already weighing down his mood. "Look…Mabel…" he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "…I know I've given you literally NO reason to like me, let alone trust me…but please…believe me when I say that hurting you or the family was never my intention." His expression was almost pleading. "I'm doing my best to HELP Stanley and Dipper, but there are things here that I have yet to understand…and I'm basically working blind trying to find a cure."

Mabel frowned, her brow furrowing. "So figure out the PROBLEM first," she replied. "It doesn't matter if the answer is 'ten', if you don't know which numbers are used to get 'ten', then you're just gonna make things worse."

"It's more like 'solve for _x_ '," Ford said. "But yes…you are right. The problem, though…is finding what _x_ is. Without it, the answer, obvious though it is, is still unattainable."

Mabel looked down at her cup, looking sadly contemplative. "…It's so stupid how much you and Dipper are alike," she said bitterly. "Always looking at 'how' something is before thinking of 'why' something is. Or even if you should be looking into it at all." She tucked the bottom of her sweater over her knees. "We were supposed to be here for fun, fresh air, and relaxation. Now look at where we are now. All because you never thought to ask if it was a good idea to trust a floating yellow triangle." She shot him a glare. "I'm not even hinting it, Great-Uncle Ford. I blame YOU for all this."

Ford felt an icy weight drop in his stomach that was almost nausea-inducing. "…I know," he replied, almost choking on the words. "…I blame myself too." He wrung his hands into the strap of his bag. "I…should be back before dusk. Goodbye." He hurried off down the dirt road, his heart hammering in his chest.

He recalled Stanley telling him that Mabel is—was—a bright, beautiful ray of sunshine that was comparable to a patron saint of smiles. He had seen photographs of the summer before all of this happened, and he could believe it, with her jumping into every shot with an energy he could almost feel. And because of his stupidity, his lack of foresight, he had destroyed that too.

Stanley's humanity.

Dipper's sanity.

Mabel's innocence.

What kind of monster WAS he?

* * *

Mabel walked through the woods quietly, a crossbow at her side, looking contemplative and sad. It was a rare moment she had for herself, between taking care of Grunkle Stan and Dipper.

Right now, Stan was tidying up the house and Dipper was holed up in the TV room watching mindless network programming, one of the few things that kept his mind calm. So she figured she would go out for a walk, and maybe possibly find something for dinner Stan might enjoy.

So far, she was enjoying watching nature rather than shooting at it, absently wishing she had brought a camera or something. How long had it been since she took candid pictures of the forest, or walked around collecting pretty rocks and leaves, or speed-knitting miniature sweaters for squirrels? It seemed like forever ago. All of it seemed so pointless now…although she was secretly craving it so badly.

She WANTED to be the bright, smiling person of the family again. She WANTED to run around Gravity Falls spreading glitter and adorableness everywhere, especially since they had a week left before summer's end. But those things had to take a backseat to what mattered.

Her family.

For Grunkle Stan and Dipper, she would never knit another sweater, talk to another boy, touch glitter ever again if that's what it took. To see them be happy again. Be NORMAL again.

Mabel found a stump in the foliage and sat down on it, rubbing her arms for a moment before tucking herself away into Sweater Town, the last little place she had of her own.

Footsteps approaching had her tensing up, one hand sliding back into the sleeve to clench at the crossbow. The footsteps came closer before stopping a short distance from her. She tugged her sweater down, her hand tightening around the crossbow—

—only to see Blendin Blandin standing in front of her, a smile on his face.

Mabel frowned. "…It's you," he said, untucking her knees from her sweater. "What are you doing here?"

Blendin's smile broadened before he raised his hands and clasped the sides of his goggles, raising them. Mabel's eyes widened, her crossbow up and aimed when she saw yellow eyes with slitted pupils leering down at her.

"BILL—" she cried, her finger tightening around the trigger. Bill raised 'his' hands almost placatingly.

"Whoa there, Shooting Star," he said. "You shoot me, you shoot an innocent puppet. I just stopped by to talk."

"Yeah right!" Mabel snapped, scowling. She DID lift her finger off the trigger, though. "What do you WANT? Because if you think I'm gonna let you hurt me just because you're in somebody's body—"

"Cool your jets," Bill snorted. "I know you're not above protecting yourself, or your family, by any means necessary." The grin grew broader and almost sinister. "After all, you've done it before, am I right?" He snorted at the slight flinch Mabel made. "Hey, I'm not condemning you, Shooting Star, like I said, you did what you had to. Really gotta hand it to you, STABBING someone to death? Classic."

"Shut up!" Mabel shouted, tearing up. "I didn't LIKE it! I HATE myself for what I did!" She sniffled, blinking hard. "B-but I had to protect Grunkle Stan!" Her eyes hardened slightly. "And if you go anywhere near Dipper, I don't care WHAT body you're in, I'll make you hurt until you HATE it!"

"I like your spunk, kid," Bill replied, sitting on a log across from her. "And I'm here to let you know that, in exchange for something _I_ want, I can give you what YOU want."

"What, another puppet?" Mabel shot back.

"Nope." Bill's eyes seemed to glow brighter. "A little something from Stanford's lab, in exchange for me fixing your uncle Stan."

Mabel's varied emotions flickered visibly across her face for a few seconds before her expression hardened. "You're tricking me," she said, scowling. "And it's a HORRIBLE thing to trick me with, even for YOU!"

"No tricks, Shooting Star." Bill crossed his arms, smiling. "Besides, I personally think I'm getting the better end of the bargain. You get Fez back to normal, and I get something I've been wanting since Sixer wussed out on me thirty years ago. And you have my word, no tricks. I'll even state it in our deal."

Mabel chewed her lip hard until it nearly bled. "…what is it you want, then?" she asked.

Bill lifted his arm, pressing a button on Blendin's device, showing a hologram of what looked like a snow globe. "It might be locked in a unit somewhere, so you might wanna use those lock picking skills Fez taught you to get it," he said. "Bring it to me, and I'll fix him back to normal. No tricks."

There was a heavy silence between them before Mabel nodded. "Alright," she said. "For Grunkle Stan." She held out her hand. "I'll get that thing you want, and you turn him back to normal RIGHT AFTER. No waiting."

"Smart girl," Bill replied, standing up and walking over, shaking Mabel's hand. "I will turn your Great-Uncle Stanley back to normal as soon as I have what I want in my possession, no tricks."

A lick of blue flames appeared around both their hands, sealing the deal.

Mabel stood up. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said, running off. Bill's eyes followed her, the grin he conveyed on Blendin's face almost inhumanly sinister.


	11. Chapter 11

Mabel quietly slipped past the vending machine and headed down the stairs, not wanting to alert her brother or Stan to what she was doing. She knew the mere MENTION of Bill would put her brother into a panic attack, and seeing Dipper in a panic attack would set Stan off, and none of that would do at all.

Yes, it was best to do this quickly and get it over with.

She stepped out of the elevator when it landed on the basement floor, looking around quietly. She could tell that Grunkle Stan had thrown a fit in here recently. There were smashed consoles and claw marks everywhere. She wondered what Ford had said to him to rile him up THIS badly.

Her jaw tightened, feeling indignation at the thought, setting about looking through anything that looked like a cupboard or a nook for what Bill had shown her. After a few minutes of looking, she found a locked cabinet under the desk, where no one would ever notice it unless they were looking for it. It had a regular lock, something she could easily pick with a hairpin.

It took a few moments of picking, but the lock came open, and she opened the cabinet. Inside was a black case tucked back, securely snapped shut. She took it out and opened it, and saw the very item she had been shown.

It looked like a glowing lava lamp inside a snow globe, very mysterious and dangerously beautiful. She looked into it for a few moments before tucking it under her arm, putting the case back, and shutting the cabinet door again, heading out quickly.

She was just stepping out of the vending machine when Stan came down the stairs.

"Hello, Mabel," he said. "Where have you been all…" He trailed off, eyes going right to the rift in her hands. "…Mabel, where did you…..why do you have that?"

Mabel's hands tightened around it. "…I just…I need it," she replied. "It wont take long, I promise—"

"Mabel, give me that." Stan held out his hand, looking mildly ill. "Be very careful and give it to me." He faltered slightly when Mabel backed away.

"I need it," she insisted, edging for the door. "Please, Grunkle Stan, I promise, it's important!"

"MABEL, GIVE IT TO ME!"

Mabel yelped when he made a grab for her, bolting out the door, hearing him follow her. She glanced back for a moment, and nearly ran into Ford, who was walking back up the path.

"What on Earth—" Ford exclaimed, holding his hands out to keep her from crashing into him. "Mabel, what's—" His eyes widened when he saw the rift in her hands. "Mabel!"

Mabel scurried back, looking between her two great-uncles. "I need it!" she cried. "PLEASE, just let me DO THIS!" She backed up when the two men stepped forward.

Dipper hurried out of the Shack when he heard his sister's voice, looking confused and frightened when he saw them both honing in on Mabel. "What's going on!?" he demanded, hurrying out, not knowing WHY they were closing in on her, but feeling a surge of protective anger at the fearful expression on her face. "What are you doing to her!?"

"Dipper, get BACK INSIDE!" Ford shouted, not looking at him. "Please, this is important!"

"BUT—"

"DIPPER, LISTEN TO FORD!" Stan snapped, his hands twitching. "MABEL, GIVE US THE RIFT!"

"The RIFT!?"

Mabel teared up, swallowing hard before hurrying off as fast as she could, hearing all three of her relatives call after her and follow. She was nearing the Bottomless Pitt when she saw the familiar form of Blendin Blandin step out of the woods and into view. She ran faster up to him, holding the rift out.

"HERE!" she cried, panting hard. "I HAVE IT!"

"MABEL, STOP!" Ford shouted, hurrying up and taking his gun out. "WHO ARE YOU!?" he demanded. "WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH THIS RIFT!?"

Dipper caught up with the others, panting, his brow furrowing in confusion. "…Blendin Blandin?" he said, wiping his forehead. "What….why do you want the rift? What's going on?" He jumped and paled when he heard Stan snarl next to him. "…Grunkle Stan…?"

Ford looked at Stan, his blood going cold when he saw his twin's eyes glowing brightly with the dead lights, teeth bared in a feral snarl as he glared at this new stranger, shoulders haunched like he was prepared to strike.

Mabel wiped her eyes. "Just take it!" she said, holding it out. "Take it and fix Grunkle Stan!"

"Mabel, how can Blendin help Grunkle Stan?!" Dipper demanded, then almost dropped like a weight when he heard high-pitched, dark-humored laughter.

"'Blendin' cant help you, Pine Tree," Bill said, turning to grin at them. "But I can." He reached out and took the rift from Mabel's hands.

"NO!" Ford shouted, firing a shot at him. It hit Bill's shoulder, and the demon stumbled back, laughing hysterically.

"Gonna shoot an innocent puppet, Sixer!?" he laughed. "How DEVIOUS!" He held up the rift. "I'm not here for YOU, though, I'm here for Shooting Star. And a deal's a deal." He turned his eyes to Stan, who seemed to be growing more feral by the moment. "Putting him back to normal, just as promised!"

Bill's eyes turned bright blue, a blue aura surrounding his hand as he snapped his fingers. Next to Ford, Stan suddenly dropped like a switch had been flipped.

Mabel hurried over to Stan, holding his shoulder, looking desperately hopeful. "Grunkle Stan?" she said, shaking him. "It's okay now….you're all fixed!" She beamed when he shifted and began to get up. "Grunkle Stan?"

Stan lifted his head, eyes full of nothing but dead lights, his skin a dead grey, the scent of death overwhelming. Mabel paled, jerking back. "Grunkle Stan—"

Stan snarled, snapping out at her, hands clawing out to get a hold of her. Mabel screamed, backing up, tearing up. "GRUNKLE STAN! BILL, WHAT DID YOU DO!? YOU SAID—"

"I SAID I'd make him normal!" Bill laughed. "AND THE OLD GEEZER WAS CLOSER TO THE GRAVE THAN ANYTHING! SO I MADE HIM A NORMAL ZOMBIE! SEE?! **BACK TO NORMAL, JUST AS PROMISED!** " He raised his arm, then threw the rift to the ground.

Ford dove over to Dipper and covered the boy as the rift emitted a blast of energy up into the sky. He kept Dipper's head down as he glanced up in time to see Bill emerge from his puppet's body, laughing loudly.

 _ **"AT LAST! AT LONG, LONG LAST!"**_ Bill shouted. _ **"THE GATES BETWEEN WORLDS IS OPEN! THE PROPHESY OF ONE BILLION YEARS HAS COME TO PASS! THIS WORLD IS MINE!"**_

Dipper's whole body shook as he peeked out from under Ford's arm, looking around wildly until he saw his sister back-crawling away from Stan, who was pursuing her, heedless of her cries for him to come back. His eyes widened when he saw how close she was to the side of the Bottomless Pit. "Mabel—!"

Mabel sobbed, shaking hard as she stared into the dead lights of her Grunkle's eyes, seeing no recognition behind them. "Grunkle Stan…!" she stammered, choking on her tears. "PLEASE, Grunkle Stan, PLEASE! Come back! COME BACK, please…!" Her hand felt the lip of the Pit behind her, crying harder. "PLEASE! I LOVE YOU, GRUNKLE STAN! I ONLY WANTED US TO BE HAPPY AGAIN! PLEASE!"

Her breath hitched when she saw him pause, hearing his growling death rattle over the commotion of the rift in the sky. She sniffled, shakily raising one hand to reach out at him—

Dipper's heart stopped when he saw his fully-zombified great-uncle launch himself at Mabel, teeth embedding into her arm as he knocked them both back into the Bottomless Pitt.

" _MABEL! NO!_ " Dipper thrashed against Ford, hands clawing at the air as he tried futilely to get over to the Pit. Ford clasped both arms around his nephew, his face void of blood from what he too had seen, too numb to scream, cry, or do ANYTHING but allow another relative to be taken away.

"WHY!?" he shouted up at the demon, his arms tightening around Dipper. "WHY, YOU DEMON, WHY!?"

Bill cackled, a blazing eye staring down at the pair left over. **"WHY** _ **NOT**_ **, SIXER?"** he replied, his voice resonating down to Ford's bones. **"I COULDN'T CONTROL HIM AS HE WAS. BUT SINCE THE CURSE OF THE UNDEAD COMES FROM** _ **MY**_ **REALM, HE BELONGS TO ME NOW! AND SHOOTING STAR AS WELL!"**

Dipper muffled a scream into Ford's shoulder, tears soaking his face as he felt his heart and soul shatter to pieces. He wanted to punch Bill in the eye, throw himself down the Bottomless Pit, roll over and die, all at the same time. His Grunkle Stan was gone for good now, and so was his twin sister. He didn't want to be here when they came back out of the Pit. He didn't want to see them lost forever.

Ford picked Dipper up and headed back for the Shack, only to be thrown into a tree by Bill's psychic power. He tucked his body around Dipper's to protect the boy, yelping when he struck the tree, bruising his side.

 **"YOU ARENT GOING ANYWHERE, SIXER!"** Bill laughed. **"YOU AND PINE TREE ARE GOING TO SIT RIGHT THERE, AND ENJOY THE SHOW!"** He snapped his fingers, shackles appearing around Ford and Dipper's wrists, held by chains attached to the tree. While the two jerked on the chains, he floated up higher, expanding in size, and began wreaking havoc on Gravity Falls.

Dipper hugged his knees tightly, his whole body shaking so hard the chains rattled. It was painfully obvious that Bill wasn't going to let them get out of this suffering, and that it would only get worse. Ford curled one arm around Dipper's shoulders, the other prodding around his pockets, hoping and praying there was something in there somewhere that could help get them out of these chains.

 _ **'NO USE LOOKING, SIXER!'**_ Bill's voice resounded in his head. _ **'ALREADY RELIEVED YOU OF YOUR ESCAPE TOOLS. JUST SIT BACK. RELAX. ENJOY YOUR FAMILY REUNION.'**_

Family reunion? What family—

Dipper's ragged gasp made him look up, and his blood went cold when he saw a hand gripping the edge of the Pit. It clawed upward, pulling up his brother's familiar form, seeing the dead lights glowing all the way from where he was sitting. He pulled Dipper closer to him as Stan crawled out of the Pit and stood up before turning his head back toward it.

Ford's breath caught in his throat as another, smaller hand came up too and was soon followed by a small body, the right arm sleeve of a sweater torn and a festering black wound glaring out on pale skin. Ford heard Dipper make pained, tortured animal-like sounds as he struggled to remember how to breathe.

"…Ma…Mabel….!"

Mabel stood up next to Stan, swaying on her feet for a moment before steadying and raising her head, the dead lights glowing brightly from behind her curtain of hair stuck to her face.

A muffled, piercing sound rang through Ford's ears, and it took him a few moments to realize it was Dipper's screaming.


	12. Chapter 12

Ford felt like he could scream too, but no sound was able to leave his throat. He wasn't even sure he was able to breathe. All he could do was stare at his twin and his great-niece standing a stone's throw away, able to smell the curse of undeath on them even from the distance.

Above them, Bill's laughter rattled everything from the trees to the earth, and Ford was unable to block any of it out. The only thing he could hear over that damning laughter was Dipper's hysterical screaming that didn't even sound human anymore.

Bill seemed to take pleasure in Dipper's shattered psyche, turning his blazing golden eye downward at them. **"DON'T BE LIKE THAT, PINE TREE,"** Bill rumbled, sick humor dripping from his voice. **"WELCOME YOUR GRUNKLE STAN AND YOUR SISTER! YOU'LL HURT THEIR FEELINGS IF YOU KEEP SCREAMING LIKE THAT."** Pause. **"OH, THAT'S RIGHT. THEY FEEL** _ **NOTHING**_ **ANYMORE!** _ **BECAUSE THEY'RE DEAD!**_ **"**

Dipper screamed louder, clawing at his scalp, pulling painfully on his ears as though to tear them off and rid himself of Bill's taunting voice. Ford reached over and tugged Dipper to him, burying the boy's head to his chest and putting his arms over him, shaking with terror and rage at the beast in the sky, a thousand and one screams and insults flashing around in his mind, but nothing coming from his throat.

He clenched his eyes shut, feeling a blur of wetness run down his face. All of this pain, this terror, this SUFFERING….all because he was so desperate for answers to questions that shouldn't even have been asked. Because of his hubris, the world was ending, half his family was dead, and all that remained was breaking into pieces in his arms.

 _'I'm sorry,'_ he thought, sending mental apologies to Stanley, to Mabel, to Dipper, to everyone being terrorized in Gravity Falls, and soon, the world. _'I'm so, so sorry...'_ He felt a whimper crawl up his throat when he heard the dragging gait of his dead twin come closer, his arms tightening around Dipper. He absently wondered if he could spare the boy any further suffering; a quick snap of the neck and it would be over with—

 _ **"…Ford…"**_

Ford stiffened, coldness creeping over his spine when he heard the death-rattled voice of his brother speak. No. No no no no no no, it couldn't be real, it had to be another cruel joke of Bill's. He kept his eyes shut tight, his hands shakily raising to Dipper's head.

 _ **"Ford."**_

"Keep…keep your eyes shut, Dipper," Ford murmured. "It'll be over soon…I…I promise…"

 _ **"Ford."**_

His hands tightened around Dipper's head, muscles tensed to make it quick.

 _ **"STANFORD."**_

Ford yelped when his wrists were grabbed by inhumanly strong, dead-cold hands and pulled from Dipper's head. His eyes snapped open, his body frozen when he saw his dead brother, holding his arms tightly, dead light-glowing eyes staring down at him. He could see Stan's body move with slow, rattled breathing, and swallowed down bile when he smelled the scent of decaying, stale blood on Stan's breath.

He didn't know how long he sat there, waiting for the agony of having his flesh torn and eaten—or worse, seeing it done to Dipper first—but seconds passed, and he became aware that Stanley wasn't making a move. Only that steely grip on his arms reminded him that Stanley was even there and this wasn't some terror-fueled hallucination.

Ford felt Dipper press his face into his chest and whimper, bringing him back to reality. He tugged on his arms, feeling more tears fall down his face. "Please!" he choked out, shaking. "Please…!" He didn't know what he was begging for. For Stan to eat him and not Dipper? To let him put Dipper out of his misery before anything else happened? For Stan to come to his senses and TRY to remember, SOMEHOW? "S…Stanley…I'm sorry…Stanley…!"

 _ **"Stanford."**_

That time, Ford was CERTAIN he heard his brother for true under that death rattling. He looked up, searching those dead lights desperately, seeing nothing behind them, but he DID see Stan's face look less monstrously dead and more calming and genial. Hope sprung anew, and Ford swallowed hard. "…Stanley…?"

Stan let go of Ford's arms, gaze dropping to look at Dipper, who was practically a shaking cocoon in Ford's coat, his expression turning sad before evolving into rage, hands clenching so tightly Ford could hear loud cracking, the zombie turning his glare upwards at Bill, who appeared to be too busy wreaking chaos to pay them any mind for now.

Ford put his arms around Dipper, swallowing hard. "…Stanley," he said again. "…Are you….you?" Stan glanced back over to him, visage going sad again.

 _ **"…No,"**_ he replied. _**"Not anymore."**_ He looked skyward, where THINGS were beginning to crawl out of the tear in the dimension, low, guttural growling echoing through the air. _ **"But I am not HIS either."**_

Ford almost doubled over when he felt a strong punch of nausea hit him, feeling as though his insides were freezing and thawing rapid-fire. He retched for a moment before looking back up at Stanley, realizing this nauseating feeling of having his body experience this thrive-and-die sensation was coming from HIM.

Stan turned back to the Bottomless Pit, where Mabel was standing motionlessly, and reached out his hand, fingers curling with a sickening crack. A sudden overwhelming smell of rotting flesh and carnage swept over the area moments before bodies began to crawl out of the Pit. Ford could recognize some of them being from the FBI; but the majority were those he'd never seen before, some mostly intact, some with bite-size chunks missing, but the majority looked as though entire limbs had been eaten off. One particular larger man wearing a pink Hawaiian shirt had his entire chest cavity emptied.

If Bill wasn't paying attention before, he was NOW. He turned a glowering eye to Stan. **"WHAT IN THE—!?"**

 _ **"YOU DO NOT CONTROL ME!"**_ Stan snarled. He held out his hand to Mabel when Bill's eye turned to her, keeping her in place. _**"YOU DO NOT CONTROL MY FAMILY!"**_ He pointed up at Bill threateningly. _**"YOU WILL NEVER—EVER—HARM MY FAMILY AGAIN!"**_

The undead scrambled from the Pit and began attacking the creatures that came from the rift, biting and clawing and tearing them apart, the creatures reanimating soon after perishing.

Ford held Dipper tighter, trying to keep the boy's head turned away from the carnage. Dipper turned anyway, unable to stop from staring at Stan commanding the dead into attacking the creatures, and Bill apparently throwing a fit.

"Oh geeze oh geeze, oh man, what even the—"

Ford and Dipper turned when they saw Blendin scrambling back from everything, looking terrified. Dipper's eyes flicked to Blendin's belt and saw the time travel tape intact clipped on. He sat up, jerking on the chains.

"Blendin!" he called over, getting the man's attention.

"Dipper Pines! What IS all this!?"

"Blendin, PLEASE!" Dipper begged, jerking on the chains. "Please, get us free! PLEASE!"

Blendin looked between the two captives and the carnage for a moment before swearing under his breath, stumbling over and pressing a button on his wristband, the chains around Dipper and Ford's wrists shattering off. Dipper made a grab for the tape, but Blendin leaned back. "Whoa, wait a—"

 **"YOU!"** Bill's earth-shattering voice screeched out, eye trained on the trio. **"YOU WILL SUFFER THE TERROR OF A THOUSAND REALMS IN HELL FOR THIS!"** He raised a hand toward them, and Ford pulled Dipper to him tightly—

Bill let out a roar that sent shockwaves through the air when his eye was pierced through with a grappling hook, gushing hissing black ichor. Dipper followed the line of the grappling hook's rope to Mabel, who held onto the gun and stared up at the demon contemptuously.

"M…Mabel…!"

 _ **"GO!"**_ Stan bellowed. _**"GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!"**_ He picked up an axe and hurled it up at Bill, distracting the demon further.

Blendin jerked out the time travel tape, turning to Ford and Dipper. "Time-damn it, it's against the rules, but—" He tugged on the tape and grabbed the other males. Ford clung to Dipper tightly as the boy reached out for his sister—and then they vanished.


	13. Epilogue

Blendin sat in silence with Ford and Dipper, all three looking too traumatized to function properly. They were in custody at the TACU HQ, though at least not behind bars. Blendin invoked a Bylaw 894^00, which apparently, from what Ford gathered, was something along the lines of a time-plucking freebie mixed with a requested audience with the Time Baby. Or something like that. He was too numb to pay much attention to it.

Dipper was taking a light nap full of nightmare twitches while Ford sipped his fourth cup of coffee with shaking hands. Blendin, who was officially 'watching them', was sitting in the corner, hugging his knees and wondering what it would take to get the feel of demon out of his insides. He kept sending Dipper pitying looks, knowing how hard it must have been to leave his sister behind.

"…What are we supposed to say?" Ford spoke up, looking at Blendin. Blendin sighed, shifting his legs outward to stretch them out.

"You're going to be making a case for your timeline," he replied. "I think your chances are good, to be honest." He rubbed his eyes, sighing. "Though I'm probably going to be court martialed for my part in all this." He tightened his jaw, his eyes full of guilt. "…He helped break me out of the Infinetentiary, and I…owed him a favor." He shuddered hard. "…I…I had no idea that—"

"You're not the only one who's been tricked by him," Ford cut in before draining his cup of coffee. "Dipper and I both suffered the same way. He knows how to wait, bide his time, line up all the pieces so they fall right where he wants them to…" His mouth made a grim, yet satisfied line. "…At least Stanley proved to me that there ARE unknown variables to exploit…but…THAT wasn't one I wanted."

Blendin swallowed hard, nodding. "Right," he replied quietly. "Consider this for your variable…cutting your timeline off where it went bad and going from there…..or erasing it completely."

Ford looked over at Dipper, who was crying in his sleep. "…I would rather not exist than go back to that," he said, reaching over and petting Dipper's head.

Blendin checked something on his wristband, standing up. "Weigh your choices now," he said. "We've been cleared for an audience with the Time Baby, and you have five minutes to get ready."

Ford let out a heavy sigh, tucking his arms under Dipper's body and picking him up. As much as he wanted the boy to have a say in things, he wanted Dipper to rest more than anything, or to stay asleep in case an erasure of time became the only option. This whole mess was HIS fault, and he was going to make the call.

Five minutes passed, and Ford was escorted out of the room by several guards. As Dipper settled into a deeper, more peaceful sleep, Ford made his decision.

Ask the Time Baby to cut the timeline off to where he thinks it went wrong. Anything, from Ford never finding that cave, even to something like Stan never being bitten by the zombie, would do.

Anything—ANYTHING AT ALL—was better than this.


End file.
